


Trembling Hands

by Haunted_Obsidian



Category: Walking Dead (Comics), Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: AU, Aftermath, Angel wings vest is now a jacket, Angst, Broken men, Bruises, Car Accident, Car Ride, Daryl is a musician, Daryl loves his smokes, Daryl really hates cops, Domestic Violence, Emotional Abuse, Hershel's kind of awesome, Hurt!Rick, Lots of Angst, M/M, Merle's kind of a dick too, Nervous Daryl, Pain, Pt, Rick's background, Scars, Shane is a dick, Shane's an evil bastard, Shane's brother is a dick too, broccoli and potato soup, landlord Dale, shaming, so much you could drown in it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-08 09:00:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 39,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haunted_Obsidian/pseuds/Haunted_Obsidian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl Dixon never thought he'd be anyone's knight in shining armor. Until he meets Rick Grimes, that is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue : Wonderful Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [insanechayne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/insanechayne/gifts).



> This was an idea that's been in my head for a long time, and I finally sat down and wrote some of it out. It might not be an easy read, so anyone who is off-put by abuse and non-con, might not want to continue. Oh, and insanechayne, I totally wouldn't be posting this if it wasn't for you, dear, so thank you for the push, and I hope the rest of you enjoy it.

“Well, looks like you're all moved in, little brother,” Merle stated, glancing around the living room of the apartment Daryl had just moved into. He brushed his hands off onto his worn jeans, giving the room a once over before heading to the front door. 

“Sure you don't want another beer 'fore you hit the road?” Daryl asked, taking a sip of his. 

“'S good as it sounds, I got some other place I need to be. I'll be around though,” his older brother answered and opened the door to let himself out. “You need anything, just give me a ring.”

“Sure thing,” Daryl answered, eyes drifting past his brother to the man that was fishing for his keys in his pockets across the hall while trying to balance a few bags of groceries in his arms. 

Merle glanced behind him, a smirk forming on his lips. “Well, I'll leave you to it then. Take it easy, little brother. Don't strain your eyes too hard,” he quipped, chuckling as he took off down the hall, Daryl throwing a dirty look behind him.

“Hey, you need help with that?” Daryl asked, hanging on the edge of his doorway, eying his new neighbor warily. The other man glanced up in surprise, one of the bags slipping from his arms and falling to the floor. It's contents scattered, spilling every which way. “Oh, shit,” Daryl muttered, immediately bending down to help the man pick up his things. “Sorry 'bout that.”

“It's not your fault,” the other man spoke, and his voice was quiet but friendly with a bit of a country accent, one not as thick as Daryl's. “I'm just a bit clumsy is all.” 

Daryl couldn't help but notice the bruises on the man's wrist when his jacket sleeve rode up as he reached for a stray orange. Almost instantly, the other man noted his mistake and hurriedly snatched the fruit up and pulled his sleeve back down. As soon as everything was back in the bag, he stood up, nervous smile set upon his lips. 

Daryl noted that they were almost the same height; he being just an inch or so taller. The other man was a bit on the thin side, clad in loose black jeans, a brown jacket, and what looked like an oversized brown sweater underneath that. Was it really that cold outside? Daryl wondered. Hell, he was still wearing just his sleeveless tee, but then again, he had been moving boxes and running up and down stairs for the better part of the day, so maybe that's why it didn't seem all that chilly to him. 

“Well, um, thank you,” the other man said, a shy, unsure smile still tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“Daryl—my name's Daryl. Dixon,” Daryl answered, and could feel his face growing red at his babbling. When had he become such a stuttering fool? 

The other man's smile grew the tiniest bit wider. “I'm Rick. It's nice to meet you, Daryl.” And Daryl felt a stupid grin trying to spread across his lips as well. What the hell was wrong with him? He found himself reaching out to shake Rick's hand when another voice fell across his ears. 

“You droppin' stuff again? Now what did I tell you 'bout that?” And suddenly, there was another man heading their way from the end of the hallway. He was dressed in a black and blue police officer's uniform, aviator Raybans still shielding his eyes. 

Daryl immediately stiffened at the other man's presence, the smile disappearing from his face as he drew nearer. Great, a fuckin' cop. He _hated_ cops. 

“H-hey, Shane,” Rick said, swallowing thickly as the other man came nearer. “This-This is Daryl. He just moved in across the hall. Daryl, this is Shane.”

Shane came to stand next to Rick, removing his sunglasses as he looked Daryl up and down. 

Daryl didn't miss the taunting look in the man's eyes. If he wanted a fight, he was most definitely messing with the wrong person. That was for damned sure. 

“Uh huh. Well, hope you enjoy it here, friend,” Shane stated, taking his own set of keys out of his right, front pants pocket and pushing open the door that had the numbers _1211 D_ on it. “Well, what are you waitin' for? Go on now,” he said, stepping back so that Rick could go in before him. 

“Nice to meet you again, Daryl,” Rick said, sending a glance the other man's way before disappearing into his and Shane's apartment. 

Daryl didn't respond, only watched as Shane eyed him once more before slamming the door shut behind him. He stood there for a moment, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding before retreating back to his apartment, Rick's blue eyes blazing through his mind. 

He hoped he'd see the man again. 

Without his boyfriend, or whatever the hell he was around.


	2. Howl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your comments! I appreciate them, and hope you enjoy this chapter.

“So what was that all about?” Shane's voice cut through the kitchen. 

“What was what all about?” Rick asked distractedly, trying his best not to look the other man in the eye as he put the groceries away.

“Really? That's how you're gonna play it?” And before Rick knew it, Shane was right next to him knocking the package of paper towels out of his hand. 

Rick tensed at the action, backing up against the kitchen counter and keeping his eyes on the floor. He hated when this happened. “I'm not-”

“You might as well of thrown yourself at 'em!” Shane shouted, getting right in Rick's face, though the other man still kept his gaze on the white tiles below. 

“Shane, I just-”

“What? You thought I didn't see that? I saw the way you were lookin' at that damn hillbilly, and if I catch you lookin' at him like that again, you ain't gonna like what happens. I can guarantee that,” he stated darkly in the smaller-built man's ear, pinning him against the counter as he did so. Rick grimaced as it dug into his back, gently laying his hands on Shane's chest as pain traveled up and down his spine.

“I'm sorry, Shane. It won't happen again,” and he could feel his voice wanting to shake, but he kept it under control. He jumped when he felt one of Shane's hands grip his chin and jerk his head up, forcing him to make eye contact.

“Now what have I told you about lookin' at me when I'm talkin' to you?” Shane asked, dark eyes gleaming dangerously. 

“Sorry, I'm sorry,” Rick apologized again, feeling a lump forming in his throat. He wondered how the hell he could love the man so damned much, but be so afraid of him at the same time.

Shane stared at him for a moment longer before slowly backing away. “Good. That's good. Now finish puttin' them groceries away. Don't exactly have the money to be wastin' on food, now do we? 'Specially since I'm the only one with a damned job around here,” he muttered just loud enough for Rick to hear as he went into the bedroom. 

The words cut into Rick just as they always did, leaving him feeling even worse than he did before. He glanced down at his right leg. It hadn't hurt much that day, but he knew the lack of pain was fleeting. Regardless, he still had a noticeable limp, even on a good day. But that was neither here nor there; Shane was right, they _didn't_ have the money to be wasting on groceries, so he hurriedly put them away, inwardly thankful that nothing more became of the incident. 

TWD*TWD*TWD

It had been nearly a week, and Daryl hadn't managed to spot Rick again. He couldn't help but feel a little upset by it. Though his job did have him working odd hours, so then again, it was best to be expected. 

Taking the last drag off his cigarette, he threw the butt to the ground and let himself into the apartment complex. The building was old, made of brick and mortar, but it was cheap and relatively close to the joint he worked at, so he didn't mind all that much. It didn't have an elevator though, so he quickly made his way up the winding, wooden staircase to the second floor, guitar case in hand as he bounded up the stairs. 

There were only four apartments on each floor, and thanks to a conversation with Carol (the kind, middle-aged woman that lived downstairs with her young daughter, Sophia) while doing his laundry, he learned that the other two apartments on the second floor were currently being renovated, so he and the couple across the hall were the floor's only occupants. So when he heard someone yelling as he reached the cut-off from the staircase to his floor, he knew the noise could only be coming from one place.

Whatever was being screamed was muffled thanks to the surprisingly thick walls, but nonetheless, it was still loud enough that he could hear it as he reached his door. Daryl wasn't exactly the type to rummage in other people's business—just really wasn't his thing—but he was pretty sure that the cop was the one that was doing the yelling, and that more than likely meant that it was being directed at the pair of blue eyes that had been staring at him in his dreams since the day he laid his own upon them.

And he didn't quite think he could stand for that. 

He knocked on the door loudly, leaning his guitar case against the outside wall as he did so. The yelling immediately curtailed, and after a moment, the door was opened. 

The cop leaned lazily in the doorway, making sure the wooden object shielded the majority of the space behind him. Even with his casual posture, Daryl could still see the perspiration that was on his brow, and the way his chest was heaving up and down a bit.

“Can I help you?” the dark-haired man asked, only bothering to place a half-grin on his lips. He wasn't dressed in his uniform at the moment, Daryl noted; just a black short-sleeved t-shirt and form-fitting khakis. 

Daryl peered around him, hoping to catch a glance of Rick but Shane made sure to block his view. “Somethin' you need, friend?” and there was a definite bite to his tone, one that made Daryl want to punch him in his mouth right then and there.

“Just wonderin' what all the shoutin's about, _friend_ ,” Daryl answered, eyes narrowing as he continued to scan what he could see of the couple's apartment. It looked intact for the most part. Still, he really didn't like the feeling he was getting from it.

“Oh, nothin' much. Those damn Wildcats just can't seem to get a touchdown tonight 's all,” Shane replied, half-smile still on his lips. “Didn't mean to disturb you or anything,” he added, and there wasn't even a hint of sincerity in his voice. “I'll try to keep my hollerin' down to a minimum.” Then, he closed the door, and Daryl almost let himself kick it right back open, but he didn't. It'd probably just make things worse. 

He'd make sure to see Rick tomorrow. Wait til that damn cop goes off to work. Hopefully, he was okay.

Hopefully.

TWD*TWD*TWD

Rick heard the front door close, and felt himself shutter. He'd retreated to the bathroom while Shane had answered the door, fearful of what would be meeting him in the mirror. His lip was busted, straight down the middle, blood staining his teeth and chin. The skin below his left eye was already darkening, the blood vessels broken underneath the thin flesh there. It was puffy too, and he knew immediately he'd have a black eye by morning. He pushed his sleeve up an inch or so and saw that the bruises that had been reduced to an array of yellows on his wrist were already beginning to turn blue and purple again. He was about to lift up his shirt and survey the damage there when the bathroom door swung open, slamming into the wall behind it.

He gripped the edge of the sink when he heard the plaster break and crumble to the floor, squeezing his eyes shut when he felt Shane's strong hand latch onto his shoulder and pull him back, slamming him into the adjacent wall. Pain traversed up and down his spine and shoulder blades as Shane repeated the action, then grabbed him by the throat and pressed his lips up against his ear. 

“You know who that was?” Shane asked in a hushed tone, and Rick immediately shook his head. “Why, that was your boyfriend from across the hall. Guess he heard the commotion and just had to stick his nose in, see if his girlfriend was alright,” and Rick continued to shake his head, shutting his eyes as tight as they could go because he could feel the tears trying to escape, and that was the last thing he needed right now. 

“You been invitin' him over here while I'm at work? Huh? Lettin' him fuck you like I do?” Shane continued on, pressing in the hollow of Rick's throat, right in between his collarbones. 

“No,” the thinner of the two men choked out, both hands wrapped around Shane's wrists, but more in a pleading gesture than anything. He knew there was no way in hell he'd be able to pry Shane's hands from around his throat; and he sure as hell wasn't going to try either. 

“You ain't lyin' to me, now are ya? 'Cause you know I'd find out one way or the other. So you best tell me the truth now, sweetheart, or suffer the consequences.”

“I haven't—,” and God, it was so hard for him to speak when Shane's thumb kept digging in deeper and deeper. “I didn't do anything, Shane. I haven't seen him since he first moved in. I swear.”

“Okay, okay,” Shane said, nodding. “I'll give you the benefit of the doubt this time, but if I find out anything—and I do mean anything—you'll be limping on your other leg too. You understand?” And Rick nodded, heart still pounding in his chest. “Good, now you go on and clean yourself off, an' get ready for bed. Okay?”

Rick nodded in response once more, sucking in a breath of air as Shane slowly removed his hands from around his neck. “I'll be waitin' for you, so don't take too long.”

“Okay,” Rick breathed out, it already hurting to speak. 

“You got five minutes,” and with that, Shane went out of the room, and Rick hurriedly closed the door, tears beginning to stream down his hollowed cheeks. His whole body was trembling, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Biting his bottom lip to stifle his cries, he quickly set about undressing himself and taking a quick shower.

Unfortunately for him, the water wasn't able to wash away the pain that made his whole body ache. At this point, he didn't think much could.

Except for maybe...no, nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any comments or feedback would be lovely.


	3. Le vent nous portera

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you all you lovely people that are willing to give this fic a read. It means a lot to me! ☺

It was another three days before Daryl managed to see Rick.

And that was far too long for Daryl.

The wind was blowing, sending dead and dying leaves all over the sidewalk. The sky was mostly cloudy, but while he walked back from the corner store (fresh pack of smokes in his pocket), a few rays of sunlight managed to peak through. 

He had just made it to the front of his building when a car pulled up. He glanced over, taking a drag off his cigarette when he saw Rick get out of the gray four-door sedan, an older, white-haired man in the driver's side. “You take care now, son. I'll be back on Friday.” The older man glanced at Daryl before pulling off into the street.

Daryl's gaze narrowed in on Rick, and that was when he noticed that he was limping. Anger flared deep down in his gut. Had he been limping like that before? Or did that bastard cop just do that shit to him? 

“Uh, hi,” came the nervous greeting from Rick, and that's when Daryl realized he must've looked pretty damned angry because Rick only glanced at him for a second before letting his focus fall on the ground. 

“You okay?” Daryl asked, taking another drag off his cigarette. 

Rick glanced up at him again and nodded, pulling the same brown coat he'd been wearing when Daryl had last seen him tighter around his thin frame. 

“You sure 'bout that?” Daryl couldn't mask his concern, and it only grew once he saw the faded black eye Rick was sporting. 

“I appreciate the interrogation, but really, I'm fine,” and Rick flashed that same shy smile he'd flashed when he'd first met the other man. “It's kinda chilly out here, mind if we go inside?”

The small smile caught Daryl off guard, and some of his initial anger evaporated, but some still lingered, just under the surface. He honestly didn't know anything about this Rick guy, but he was pretty damned sure that he didn't deserve any of the bruises that were decorating his body at the moment. “Yeah, sorry 'bout that. The cold really don't affect me too much, I guess.”

“Or maybe it's just the jacket,” Rick teased, and let himself inside, making sure to hold the door open for Daryl. 

“Hey, I like this jacket,” Daryl said, a smile turning up the corners of his lips. “My brother gave it to me.” It was leather with a pair of angel wings on the back.

“What, when you were five?” Daryl couldn't help but chuckle a bit at the jab, Rick's voice teasing his ears. 

“Haha, very funny. You're about twenty years off there,” he responded back. He considered the thought of teasing him back, but decided against it. Even though he had quite a nice view of the other man's ass (since he _was_ following him and all), he couldn't help but notice how difficult it looked for Rick to walk up the flight of stairs. His right leg looked stiff, like it was hard to bend it, and his curiosity only deepened. “So, was that your dad out there or somethin'?” he let himself ask, trying not to sound too nosy. He couldn't help that he wanted to learn more about the man. He just...did.

“Close, he's actually my step-father.” Rick replied, and Daryl didn't miss the way he gripped the staircase so hard that his already pale knuckles went even whiter. 

“You sure you're okay? If you need help, I don't mind,” but Rick was already shaking his head.

“I'm fine really. It's just a little sore is all. I-I had PT today, so, yeah,” and Daryl could hear the man straining to smile even though he was clearly in pain.

“PT?” Daryl felt stupid for even uttering the question once Rick answered as they finally made it to their floor. 

“Physical therapy.” And now that Daryl was walking beside him, he could see the small sheen of sweat that had broken out on his forehead.

“Here, let me help you. At least get you inside,” Daryl offered, holding an arm out. 

“I'm not an invalid,” Rick quipped, the shy smile once again finding its way on his lips. When he swayed, Daryl immediately took hold of his arm, holding him up steady. “Thanks,” Rick muttered, and Daryl could feel just how tense the other man's arms were as he held onto him. “Guess it just takes a lot out of me sometimes.”

“Not tryin' to be funny or anything, but why don't you just use a cane?” Daryl inquired, holding Rick steady as the other man got his keys out of his pocket and opened the door to his and Shane's apartment. Daryl watched him hesitate for a moment before crossing over the threshold, and continued to hold onto him, easing his grip just a little. 

Rick's voice was quiet when he answered. “S-Shane says that it'll get better faster if I don't go easy on it.”

“What does your physical therapist say?” Daryl inquired with a quirked brow. He led Rick over to the couch and the man slowly sat down, nodding in thanks. 

“He says I should use a cane on the bad days, but if I'm able to get around without one, there's not really a point, is there?” Rick glanced up at Daryl from the floor, not missing the disapproving expression on his face. “I really am fine, for the most part. It's usually only bad if I work it too hard, or when it's cold. Um,” he began, gaze falling to the carpet once more. “T-Thank you, you know, for helping me in here. It really usually isn't this bad. Guess I just got carried away today,” and the shy smile was back, tugging at the corners of his lips. 

Daryl nodded, and ran a hand through his hair. “Well-”

Rick cut him off. “Would you like anything to drink? Coffee, tea? I think there might still be a few beers in there too,” and before Daryl could stop him, Rick was already standing and limping away towards the kitchen. 

“Hey, you ain't gotta worry 'bout me. Rick,” he called out, and when he said the man's name, Rick froze. “Hey,” Daryl said, voice more gentle, “I'm good. If anything, I should be the one getting' somethin' for you.”

Rick shook his head and eased out of his jacket, draping it across one of the kitchen chairs. “Now what kind of host makes his guest get them something to drink?” he asked, throwing that damn tiny grin Daryl's way again, the one that made something flutter in his stomach. And Daryl was pretty damned positive none of his body parts had ever fluttered before. For anyone. “So what'll it be?” Rick asked expectantly, hand holding onto the refrigerator door for support. 

Daryl sighed, unable to say no to him. “Coffee's fine,” he finally replied, standing in the middle of the living room, shoving his hands awkwardly into his pockets and looking around. “So how long have you lived here?” He had the itch to smoke, but figured neither one of them did, since there wasn't an ashtray in sight. 

“We moved here about six months or so ago. From Cynthiana,” Rick responded as he poured water into the coffeemaker, and flipped it on. “How 'bout yourself?” he inquired, setting about getting two mugs from one of the cupboards. 

“Moved here from Blue Ridge, Georgia,” he replied, gaze filtering over the walls of the apartment. There were a few pictures hung here and there, mostly of Shane and Rick, and he guessed, some of their families. He wondered how many of those smiles on Rick's face were truly happy, and which ones were fake. 

“Blue Ridge...can't say I ever heard of it,” Rick said, pouring the coffee into the mugs.

“It's a pretty small town, so doubt you would. Doubt anyone would,” he muttered, eyes narrowing in on one picture in particular. Shane and Rick were standing next to one another, arms around each other's shoulders, both dressed in uniforms. They weren't black and blue city cop uniforms though, they were brown; sheriff's deputy uniforms. 

“You can sit down, you know,” Rick chided him softly, blue eyes warm and friendly and completely stealing Daryl's gaze away from the picture. 

“Oh, right,” he mumbled, taking a seat on the navy blue sofa Rick had sat down on before. The other man had obviously lost weight since that picture had been taken, Daryl noticed. His face was thinner, almost to the point of being gaunt, and the rest of his thin frame was still hidden underneath another over-sized sweater (charcoal gray this time) and dark brown-colored jeans. 

“You can take the jacket off too, unless you've got somewhere else you gotta be,” Rick added, carefully making his way back into the living room with the mugs in his hands. 

“Won't your boyfriend get mad if he finds me in here?” and Daryl regretted the remark as soon as the words had left his lips. He didn't miss the way Rick's hand shook as he handed him the cup of coffee, a few drops of the hot liquid sloshing over the sides. 

Rick laughed a quick, nervous laugh, and shook his head. He sat down on the opposite side of the couch, the sleeves of his sweater so long they damn near hid his knuckles. “It's not like that,” Rick said, but his eyes were lowered to the floor again. 

“Uh huh,” Daryl mumbled, and took a sip of the coffee only to find it was made just the way he liked it; very little sugar, no cream, almost perfectly black. “Coffee's good, thanks,” he said after downing a bit more, and sat the mug down on the wooden coffee table. 

“Glad you like it,” the other man replied, taking a drink of his own. “So,” he started, quickly changing the subject, “If it's not too personal, what made you wanna leave Georgia?” And slowly he made eye contact with the still leather jacket-clad man. 

“My dad passed away, and I decided it was time to find somewhere else to go. My brother had already moved up here a year or so ago, and he convinced me to do the same. So, here I am,” and Daryl let a quick smile cross his lips as he stared at Rick. 

“Sorry to hear about your father,” Rick said, true sincerity in his tone. “It's an awful thing, to lose a parent.” 

The Georgia native thought there was probably more behind the other man's words, but left that conversation for another time. “Yeah, well, shit happens. You get over it.”

“Yeah, I guess you do,” and Rick had a faraway look in his eyes that made Daryl want to pull him close and hold him until they both fell asleep, safe and sound. But that wasn't going to happen any time soon. He may not have been the brightest bulb, but he was far from stupid, and his wishful thinking was just that; wishful fucking thinking. 

Daryl opened his mouth to ask a question of his own when the sound of a cell phone ringing cut him off. 

“Oh, sorry about that,” Rick apologized, standing to his feet and limping into the kitchen. “I'll just be a minute.” Daryl watched as he retrieved the phone from his jacket pocket. “Hey,” Rick said, and Daryl couldn't help but overhear his side of the conversation. “I thought that was tomorrow. I'm sorry, Sh-” Daryl watched as Rick leaned against the kitchen counter, head bowed, left arm crossing against his chest. “It's not like I meant—of course it's important to me...Shane...I really thought—yeah, okay. I'll see you when you get home. Bye.” Daryl quickly trained his eyes on the still steaming mug on the table, trying his best to seem like he hadn't been listening, though they both knew that was far from the truth. He'd seen the way Rick's brow had narrowed the moment his “boyfriend” had started talking. “I'm really sorry about that,” the other man repeated, and Daryl shook his head. 

“Don't worry about it. Besides, much as I hate to say it, I've gotta get going,” and he didn't miss the way Rick's face fell when he'd spoke, as much as he tried to hide it. 

“Oh, well, I hope it's not because-”

“No, I've got rehearsal,” Daryl interjected. 

“Rehearsal?” Rick quirked a brow. 

Daryl looked away for a moment, hit with a sudden bout of his own shyness. “I'm in a band,” he explained, somewhat sheepishly, and Rick couldn't help but laugh. 

“Why do you seem so ashamed of that? That's pretty cool, actually,” and that shy smile was back, and making Daryl's face redden with each passing second. 

“Well, gotta make a living somehow, right?” he returned, and stood up, carefully avoiding the question. “Thanks for the coffee,” he said, and picked up the mug, downing the rest of its contents, and setting the empty cup back down. 

“I'll have to come see you play sometime,” Rick stated, and Daryl just wanted to kiss him right then and there. He'd experimented with men a few times though that was years ago, been with women mainly since, but there was just something about Rick that drove him crazy.

_That damned smile..._

“Yeah, yeah, sounds good,” he said, nodding. Hesitantly, he made his way over to the door, hand hovering above the knob before finally turning it. “I'll see you later, tomorrow maybe?” 

Rick's grin grew, and he nodded. “Yeah, I should be here. Take care, Daryl.”

“Yeah, you too,” and he meant it. “See ya.”

Daryl couldn't believe it; he'd only had coffee with the man once, and he was pretty damned sure he was falling for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any feedback or comments would be greatly appreciated.


	4. Hurt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, folks, this is the chapter with the non-con in it. You've been warned.

_“Shane, why don't you let me drive? I-”_

_“I've got this, dammit! I'm not drunk, so just be quiet, and let me get us home. Okay?” There was a bite to his tone that made Rick back off. Sometimes, he was smart enough to leave well enough alone. Other times...he wasn't._

_“Okay, okay,” Rick murmured, nodding, gaze falling to the passenger side window.”Just...be careful.”_

_“When am I not?” Shane shot back, anger narrowing his brow. “Huh? What, you actually think I'm gonna get us killed or somethin'?” And he purposely swerved the car, the tires sliding on the wet pavement and causing the car to fishtail._

_“Shane!” Rick admonished, worry clambering in his voice._

_“Rick!” Shane retorted mockingly in a higher pitch. “I can't believe you. Always thinkin' I'm gonna mess up, or do some stupid shit. You know how many times I've driven home after having a few beers? Plenty, dammit, and I don't need you actin' like a scared cat in that damned passenger seat every time I hit a bump or a corner. That's what's gonna get us killed. You screamin' and hollerin' over there like some frightened bitch. So why don't you just shut the fuck up an' let me drive!” The veins were bulging in his throat now, voice too loud in the space of the small car._

_“Okay,” Rick mumbled, swallowing down the lump that had formed in his throat. “Sorry,” he added, and absentmindedly rubbed his arm. Under the three layers he was wearing was a bruise; it was fading, but it was still a little sore. He decided to let that be his reminder to keep his mouth shut, because if he didn't, there would be more just like it._

_“Those are your two magic words, aren't they?” Shane spat, letting his gaze be pulled from the road and over to Rick. “Okay and sorry. You think those words make everything better? That you just say them, and I'm supposed to forget anything ever happened, and just accept it?”_

_“N-No,” Rick stuttered, eyes widening slightly when he realized they were starting to move faster, the trees and white-dotted lines speeding by quicker than they should have been._

_“Well, then, you got anything else better to say? Hmmm? How 'bout somethin' like, 'Shane, I am just so sorry that I don't trust you or your ability to drive safely anymore,' or maybe even ,'Shane, sweetheart, I'm sorry that I was too slow today and let that junkie get away. Maybe if I woulda run jus' a lil' bit faster, I coulda caught 'em. You know, somethin' like that,” Shane ground out, tone venomous and seething, and Rick couldn't help but stare back at him, shock plastered across his face and eyes._

_“It was an accident, Shane,” he tried to defend himself, but the plea fell on deaf ears._

_“Yeah, everything's always-”_

_Rick didn't get a chance to hear Shane finish his sentence. Instead, he was met with the sound of metal and glass smashing and grinding together. And then pain, plenty of pain._

Rick sat bolt uptight, chest heaving and covered in sweat. He ran a hand through his hair (that wasn't so short anymore), and slid both legs over the side of the couch. “Shit!” He glanced at his watch, and saw that Shane would be home in less than an hour. He was supposed to have dinner ready by then, and he hadn't even started yet. 

He forced himself to stand, leg still sore and stiff as he made his way into the kitchen. He hurriedly set about getting everything ready, panic buried deep down in his chest because dinner was going to be late now. And Shane hated when dinner was late, especially because his little brother was coming for a visit (which didn't happen often), and now that was all going to be ruined because Rick had fallen asleep. 

Remnants of the dream were still stuck in his head as he chopped onions and green peppers; that night one of the worst in his life. He felt tears spring to his eyes, and knew that they weren't from the onions. He hurriedly wiped them away with the back of his hand, and continued on making the meal. 

He was almost finished with everything when he heard the keys turning in the front door, and it sliding open. 

“Somethin' smells good,” Shane said as he came into the kitchen, sliding an arm around Rick's waist as the other man stood up from taking garlic bread out of the oven. 

“Thanks,” Rick muttered shyly, setting the bread on a cooling rack, and shutting the door. “How was your day?” he asked, turning around to face Shane.

“Same ol', same ol',” the other man answered, pulling Rick forward by his belt loops and kissing him albeit a little roughly on the lips. 

Rick laughed a little as they broke apart. “As much as I already know what you want, your brother's gonna be here soon and-”

“And what?” Shane cut him off, already beginning to pull Rick towards their bedroom, a devilish grin spreading across his lips.

“We don't have time,” Rick replied with a hesitant smile on his face, gently attempting to push Shane's hands off of him. 

The action only made Shane's grip that much stronger. “He can wait outside for a few minutes,” Shane shot back, easily ignoring Rick's weak effort to force him away. 

“Shane,” Rick whined lightly, and suddenly Shane's hands were off him, anger replacing the eagerness on his visage. 

“Whatever,” Shane muttered darkly, and stomped away into the bedroom, footsteps thudding too loudly in the otherwise quiet apartment. 

Rick sighed, scrubbing a hand across his face as he reluctantly followed after the other man. “Shane, look, I'm--”

“Shut up,” Shane warned, already changing out of his uniform and into casual clothing. 

Rick limped over to him, one hand almost to Shane's shoulder before it got swiped away. “Shane-”

“Shut the fuck up, and get dressed,” Shane ordered, trading his pair of work boots for another more comfortable pair. 

Rick couldn't help but feel hurt, yet guilty at the same time. If he just would've went along with him, this wouldn't be happening. But instead, he just had to resist, and now Shane was angry and probably would be for the rest of the night.

He did as he was told, and it wasn't long before there was a knock at the door. “I'll get-” but Rick cut himself off; Shane was already on his way there before he could even get out of the kitchen. “Hey, little brother, c'mon on in,” he heard Shane's greeting. Working his lips between his teeth, Rick forced a smile on his face and made his way into the living room. “Hey, Jake,” he said, and hugged the taller man. “It's good to see you.” 

Jake might have been two years younger than Shane, but he'd managed to outgrow him by a good four inches, and thirty pounds or so. It didn't help that he also shared some of Shane's personality (the worse parts, Rick thought). He had the same black hair, but it was cut shorter in a crew cut style. “You too, Rick. How you been doin'?” 

“Alright, I guess,” Rick replied, polite smile still gracing his lips. 

“Oh, he's been doin' just fine,” Shane answered, dangerous grin lifting up the corners of his mouth. “Ain't you, honey?” he asked, coming to stand next to Rick, and sliding an arm around his shoulders. “Since he just stays home like the good housewife that he is,” he added, squeezing Rick's shoulder so hard it sent a sharp pain through his collarbone. 

Rick lightly laughed in response at the intentional jab, making sure to keep the fake smile on his face. “Well, dinner's ready, so if you wanna have a seat, I'll bring it on in,” Rick stated, easing his way out of Shane's grip and back into the small kitchen area. 

“So how's Louisville and the Marshal's service treatin' you?” Shane asked as Rick brought the food to the dining table, making sure to not spill any of it. It was hard when his hands wouldn't stop shaking though. 

“It's good, but I suppose it's about the same as anywhere else. There's idiots to catch everywhere,” Jake commented, seating himself. 

“You ever think about transferring here, to Lexington?” Rick asked, setting down three glasses of iced tea. He absentmindedly rubbed at his leg as he sat down, clenching his jaw as pain snaked its way up and down the limb.

“I have,” Jake admitted, spooning a fair amount of pasta onto his plate and grabbing some garlic bread as well. “But, I'm not in the situation to move just yet.”

“Well, what's her name, you dog?” Shane drawled, filling his plate up too. 

Jake laughed. “Amy. She's a teacher at a middle school there, and it's gettin' pretty serious. Think I might ask her to marry me soon.” 

“Ain't that somethin'? My little brother gonna settle down. Never thought I'd see the day,” Shane howled, patting Jake on the back. “Good for you, kid.”

“Yeah, congratulations, Jake,” Rick added, finally grabbing some food of his own. “That's great news.” He was about to add another spoonful of spaghetti to his plate when Shane slapped his hand. 

“Good Lord, Rick. You don't need that damn much,” Shane scolded him, taking the spoon out of his hand and slamming it back in the dish. “You're gonna gain all that weight back, you keep eatin' like that,” he added, and continued to eat. 

Rick could feel his face reddening, embarrassed at Shane's comment. He tried to play it off, forcing a smile back onto his face and adding, “Yeah, we wouldn't want that, now would we?” But the damage had already been done, and even though he hadn't eaten since breakfast, his appetite was gone.

“For awhile there, I think he was bigger than me,” Shane continued on, dangerous smile still curving up the corners of his lips as he glanced at Rick, and Rick knew by the expression on his face that Shane knew exactly what he was doing. “Was startin' to take that cop in a donut shop thing a little too seriously,” and both he and Jake laughed; Rick just sat there silent, picking at his food. 

“You want some more tea?” Rick asked suddenly, standing up, clenching his jaw as more pain zig-zagged up and down his leg. He'd hoped the pain in his limb would distract him from the pain that was leaving a sinking feeling in his chest, but it didn't. It didn't help at all. Just made it all the worse, if that were possible.

“Sure,” Jake replied, holding up the near empty glass. 

Rick took it from him, the ice cubes shaking in the empty tumbler as he hobbled back into the kitchen, not missing Shane's continuing remarks. “I wouldn't mind for him to stay like that. He's a bit easier to handle if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, sounds like Amy. She's a tiny lil' thing. Very petite, always cryin' about how we can't eat here or there 'cause there's too much grease in the food. An' she's always worryin' about her weight. Guess it's a girl thing,” Jake chuckled, and Rick could feel his self-esteem deflating as he brought the drink back to the table and sat down. 

Quickly, he tried to change the subject. “Maybe we could come visit you two sometime. You're only an hour or so down the road.”

“Now that sounds like a great idea,” Shane chimed in. “I bet you and Amy would probably get along real good. You two could talk about all the latest diet fads. Probably learn a thing or two from the girl.” And the two brothers started chuckling again. 

The former deputy sheriff couldn't even force a smile that time; he just kept quiet until it was time for Jake to leave.

“It was nice seein' you again, Jake. Have a safe drive home,” Rick said, and half-hugged the younger man. He honestly wasn't sad to see him go, and hated the fact that he hoped Louisville did indeed keep the younger Walsh away and busy. 

“Will do. I'll give y'all a call when I've got a free weekend. Be good,” he joked, giving his brother a hug as well. 

“Don't I always?” and there wasn't even a hint of feigned innocence as Shane chuckled at his own words. “See ya little brother,” he said and let the younger man out.

Silence filled the apartment until Rick finally spoke. “Did you really have to do that?” 

“Do what?” Shane asked nonchalantly, passing by him and grabbing a beer from the fridge. 

“You know what I'm talkin' about,” Rick replied, following Shane into the kitchen. He felt like he was walking on egg shells, always worrying about what he was saying, and whether or not it was right or wrong, but this time he just couldn't help it.

“Lord, are you serious?” Shane scoffed, rolling his eyes, and heading towards the living room. 

“As much as you may like to forget it, I'm not a woman, and I'm not a housewife either.” Rick could feel his lips wanting to stumble on the words, and once he saw Shane stop in his tracks, he focused on a spot on the floor, too afraid to look the other man in the eye.

“Is that right?” Shane asked, calmly setting the bottle of _Budweiser_ on the coffee table and walking back towards the kitchen.

“Shane,” and Rick could feel the words _I'm_ and _sorry_ wanting to depart from his lips. He took a step back, hand subconsciously gripping the counter behind him. “Look, I-” 

“Are you really that stupid? Are you?” Shane was in his face now, fury starting to narrow his brow and eyes. 

“Never mind, I shouldn't ha-”

“I think you are. I _really_ think you are that damned stupid,” and he had Rick pinned against the counter again, and as Rick tried to lean back, Shane grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. 

“Shane-”

“What? You obviously wanted my attention. Well, you got it now, sweetheart. Believe me, you got it now.” The hair on the back of Rick's neck stood on end, and his already tense muscles became even more rigid as Shane yanked him away from the counter, and pulled him towards the bedroom. Rick stumbled after him, thin fingers automatically encircling Shane's wrist as was forced across the threshold of their bedroom and thrown down onto the bed. “I'm gonna show you who the bitch is tonight, and you can trust and believe you ain't gonna forget your place afterward,” Shane stated, nearly ripping his belt off as Rick backed up on the bed, eyes wide with fear. 

“Shane, look, I'm sorry okay? I didn't mean--”

It took less than two seconds for Rick to feel the back of Shane's hand make contact with his cheek. The power behind it sent him reeling backwards, knocking his head straight against the headboard. Pain instantly ran through his skull, making it throb like a beating drum with each coming second. 

“You're gonna learn who the boss is around here. One way or another,” he heard Shane mumble before he was flipped over onto his stomach. Even though his head was fuzzy, it didn't take long for him to realize what was about to happen. 

“Wait, Shane-” he managed to get out before Shane gripped him by his hair and smashed his face into a pillow. He felt Shane's other hand, rough and bruising, grab a hold of his pants and within seconds, Rick's trousers were hanging down around his knees. 

“You ain't even gonna think 'bout talkin' back to me no more, sweetheart,” Shane murmured in his ear, and before Rick knew it, Shane had pushed into his entrance, the sudden explosion of pain making him tense even more. It only grew worse the longer he struggled—so he stopped, stopped straining and stopped fighting.

Because a part of him knew that he deserved this. So as tears rushed down his cheeks, he took it, silently, unmoving, eyes dazed and glazed over. 

Because he deserved it. 

At least, according to Shane he did.


	5. Hold On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your comments! You guys are so awesome, so hope you enjoy the long chap!

Daryl paced back and forth in his living room, taking a drag off his fifth cigarette of the day. It didn't help matters much that it was only ten o'clock and he'd been up since eight. 

He hadn't seen Rick for almost a week, and he hated it. He even made excuses (to himself, of course) to leave his apartment, hoping to even just catch a glimpse of the other man, but to no avail. He'd seen the cop a few times, looking as smug as ever, but never Rick.

He hadn't yet worked up the courage to just go knock on his door yet either. As many times as he wanted to, he stopped himself short, and just left the building or retreated back to his apartment instead. Just as he put out one cigarette, he pulled out his pack to light another, but it was empty. He'd smoked the last one, dammit. 

“Maybe you'll see him this time,” he mumbled to himself as he slipped on his leather jacket (and he knew Rick liked the damn thing, even if he had made fun of it), and grabbed his keys. His eyes were automatically trained on the door across the hall once he exited his apartment, staring at the damned gold numbers that were hanging on it, the last _1_ looking like it was about to fall off. He lingered for a minute or two, but when he saw that the door wasn't just going to magically open and let him inside, he realized waiting was pointless. 

Sighing, he made his way down the two flights of stairs, and outside into the chilly fall air. He almost let himself be taken aback by the lonely figure that was sitting at the bottom of the concrete steps, right leg stretched out in front of him, jacket pulled tight around his thin frame.

“Hey, stranger,” he greeted, and he didn't miss the way Rick jumped at the sound of his voice. “You okay?” he asked, bustling down the steps and coming to stand in front of the other man.

“Hey, Daryl,” Rick said softly, voice barely loud enough for Daryl to hear. He glanced up at him, blue eyes cutting through the dreariness of the day. But Daryl couldn't help but think how sad they seemed. He took a good look at Rick, noting that the man looked pale, too damned pale in his opinion, and tired too. Hell, downright exhausted. He somehow appeared even thinner than he had the week before as well, skin just a little bit tighter on his cheeks. 

“You okay? Haven't seen you around at all,” he stated, leaning against the black iron rail of the steps, one hand already fidgeting with a pocket that did not, in fact, have any cigarettes in it. 

“Been sick,” Rick replied, and cast his gaze back to the quiet street where the occasional car drove past. He used his hand to pull his leg up, grimacing as he did so. That alone immediately drew Daryl's attention. 

“What are you doin' out here in the cold then for?” he inquired, a half-grin on his lips. 

“Waitin' on Hershel,” he answered, a hint of pain still pulling at the corners of his eyes. When he saw the confused expression on Daryl's face, he felt his lips curl up slightly, unable to not smile at the man. “My step-father,” he stated, rubbing his hands together in attempt at warmth, though none honestly came. 

“Oh,” Daryl replied, nodding. “You got PT again today?” he asked, taking in every little detail of the man sitting before him. He was shivering, and that alone made Daryl want to take his jacket off and drape it over his shoulders. He laughed inwardly, knowing that if his brother had even known that he'd thought that, he'd get called a pussy for sure. But he really didn't care. 

“Yeah,” Rick nodded, a curled strand of hair falling across his forehead as the wind picked up. “He called and told me he'd be a little late so I figured I'd wait out here instead. That way, he wouldn't have to wait for me to come down. Takes awhile sometimes.” His voice sounded a bit hoarse when he spoke, and the other man wished he had a pack of cough drops on him. 

“I coulda helped you,” the Georgian said, leaning in just a little bit closer. He had to shove his hand in his pocket to resist from pushing that stray strand of hair back behind Rick's ear. 

Rick smiled, and shook his head. “Just used to doin' it alone, I guess,” and that answer depressed Daryl for some reason. He'd been through plenty of shit alone, and didn't have anyone there for him; hell, not even his brother half the time. He figured with all the stupid shit he'd done, he deserved it; but not Rick, Rick needed someone to be there for him. 

“So how long does it usually last?” Daryl asked curiously, trying to avoid staring at the other man, and letting his gaze fall on the gray, cloudy sky; then, to the few passersby that walked passed them.

“About an hour or two. All depends,” Rick replied, absentmindedly rubbing at his leg. 

“Is it hurtin' real bad today?” Daryl nodded towards the limb, wondering what exactly happened to the man to cause such damage to it. His eyes narrowed at the thought of the cop having something to do with it. 

Rick shrugged, unable to meet Daryl's eyes. 

“You know, they got pain pills for that sorta thing. You should try 'em. I heard they help,” he quipped teasingly, trying desperately to lighten the mood. Rick just looked so _damned_ sad. 

“Not much of a pill taker, to be honest,” Rick responded, and slowly pushed himself up as the same gray sedan that had dropped him off last time pulled up to the curb. 

“Here, let me help you,” and Daryl automatically put a hand out for Rick to hold onto. Rick stared at him for a moment, confusion marking his brow like he still couldn't comprehend the fact that someone wanted to assist him. Hesitantly, he reached out and took it, eventually making his way down the steps and to the car. Daryl quickly opened the door for him, and helped him inside.

Before he could shut the door, Hershel spoke. “You must be Daryl,” he said, reaching a hand over Rick in an effort to shake Daryl's hand. 

Daryl nodded, and returned the gesture, Rick looking quite uneasy between the two of them. “And you must be Hershel. Nice to meet ya.” 

“Likewise. Say, you weren't in need of a ride anywhere, were you? It's the least I can do for giving a helping hand to my son.” 

Daryl glanced at Rick, then back at Hershel. “Uh, well, I was just gonna go down to the corner store. Grab a pack of smokes, so-”

“Well, get in,” Hershel said, gesturing towards the back seat.

Daryl nodded, closing the passenger door before getting in the backseat behind Rick. “It really ain't that far though,” Daryl insisted, but Hershel just wouldn't hear it.

“It's nothing,” the old man stated, and glanced at Rick. “Sorry for being late. Had trouble gettin' this darn car started. Think the starter might be goin' out on me.”

“It's alright,” Rick replied quietly, staring out the window. “We always get there early anyway.”

Daryl chewed on his lip before speaking, reluctant to butt in on the conversation. “I could always take a look at it for you, if ya want.”

Hershel glanced back at him in the rear-view mirror. “Oh, you don't have to do that.”

“Won't take much time. Maybe I could take a look at it while you do your thing,” Daryl offered, glancing at Rick in the side-view mirror. They made eye contact for a moment, and the corner of Daryl's lip upturned when he saw the tiny, nervous smile on Rick's face.

“Alright,” Hershel said, nodding. “As long as it's not a bother.”

Daryl shook his head. “It's not.” 

They pulled up to the small convenience store, and Daryl hopped out. “Y'all need anything?”

The other two men shook their heads, so he hurriedly made his way inside, paid for his pack of _Marlboro’s_ , and got back in the car. “Appreciate it,” he said, glancing at the older man in the driver's seat. 

“Not a problem,” he replied, and pulled off back into the street. “You can smoke if you want, just make sure to roll the window down.”

Daryl nodded in thanks, and did so, eagerly tapping the pack on his wrist and pulling one out. He lit the cancer stick and took a drag off of it, letting the smoke fill his lungs before he exhaled. 

“You feelin' any better today?” he heard Hershel ask Rick, and he couldn't help but send a glance Rick's way, the smile vanished from his face, replaced with that same uneasy look he had when Daryl had first approached him that morning. 

Rick nodded, glancing down at his hands before staring back out the window. 

“You still look pretty pale. You been takin' anything?” Hershel inquired, dividing his attention between the road and Rick.

“Just some cold and flu stuff,” Rick answered, scratching the side of his face with his thumb.

“You sure you're up for this? It's okay to cancel if you still feel unwell,” the older man continued on, worry certain on his brow. 

Rick shook his head. “No need. I'm okay,” he insisted, though his voice still sounded low and a little on the weak side. 

“Alright. If you say so,” Hershel muttered, letting the road receive his full attention. “Just as hard-headed as your mother was,” Daryl heard him say under his breath. He glanced at Rick, but he couldn't tell if he'd heard the remark or not. His eyes were still slightly squinted, trained on anything and everything but the inside of the car.

The rest of the ride was silent until they pulled into the parking lot of Saint Joseph's Hospital. “You want help?” Hershel offered, but Rick was already shaking his head as he got out of the car. 

“I got it,” Daryl said, and quickly got out to help the other man. 

“You really don't have to do this, Daryl,” Rick murmured as he got to his feet, pain still forcing his eyes to squint a little more than needed. 

“No, you ain't gotta do this alone,” Daryl stated, voice firm as he held out his arm for Rick to take hold of. 

“I'll be parked over there,” Hershel called from the car, pointing towards the rear front row of the lot where a large yellow sign with the letter A in bold letters sat atop a large, metallic post. 

Daryl nodded, then turned his full attention to Rick, and the way the other man was trying so hard just to walk on his own. A few strands of hair slipped out of place again, and fell across his forehead. Daryl let his lips curl up only slightly, not wanting Rick to think he was laughing at him or anything. “You always make him wait out in the car?” he inquired, muscles tense and ready just in case the other man stumbled. 

Rick laughed a little at that, and shook his head. “What can I say, just as hard-headed as my mother,” he mumbled as they entered the facility. 

Daryl glanced over at him, but didn't say anything. 

_So he_ had _heard it..._

Rick slowly let go of his arm, choosing to stand on his own. “I got it from here,” he said, when they reached the elevator. 

“Are you sure?” Daryl asked incredulously, looking him up and down. There were already a few beads of sweat sliding down his temple, but Rick nodded and smiled, pain still evident on his features. 

“Yeah, I'll meet you back here in an hour or so,” he stated and got onto the elevator. Daryl nodded and stepped back, brow still narrowed in disbelief. He lingered for a moment after the doors shut, but soon made his way back outside to the parking lot where Hershel was waiting. He pulled out his pack of Marlboro's, and stood outside the car, the chilly wind cooling him but not too badly. 

“Stubborn, ain't he?” the old man quipped as he rolled the window down. 

Daryl laughed a little as he leaned in, and nodded. “Wouldn't let me past the elevator.” 

“Yeah, he's like that. Always has been, as far back as I can remember,” Hershel said, gaze falling to the hustling and bustlings of the hospital. “Always so damned quiet, but always had that look of determination in his eyes. Even after everything him and his mother went through... ,” he paused for a moment, choosing his words the best way he could. “Why don't you have a seat, son,” Hershel suggested after a moment, glancing at Daryl before he went back to watching the entrance of the hospital. 

Daryl took one last drag off his smoke before he obliged the older man and got in the passenger seat. “You want me to take a look at the car now?” 

Hershel shook his head. “Not yet. We need to have a talk.” His tone was serious, drawl not as thick as it was before. 

“Okay, 'bout what?” Daryl asked, confused.

“About Rick. You need to know what type of situation you're getting yourself into,” Hershel started, but Daryl interjected. 

“Whoa, I'm just his friend,” he stated, suddenly starting to feel like he was trapped in the tiny space of the car. 

“And that's why you need to hear this,” Hershel continued on, finally letting his gaze falter from the entryway to Daryl and stayed there. “Rick hasn't had the easiest of lives, and somethin' tells me, neither have you.” 

Daryl stared at him, brow narrowed, eyes squinting at the sunlight that was starting to peak through the clouds and leak through the windows. “And what makes you think that?” he asked, adverting the old man's gaze temporarily.

“You got that look, son. Trust me, it's one I know very well,” Hershel replied simply. “Now, what I'm about to tell you isn't going to get repeated, do you understand?”

Daryl clenched his jaw and nodded, forcing himself to look back at the old man.

“I was an acquaintance of Rick's father; we worked together, put in our ten hours at the mill six days a week, then we'd go down to the bar for a few drinks after. Though, when I left the bar, I'd go home, sleep it off on the couch—he didn't. He'd go home and take all his anger and frustrations out on Rick and his mother. Now, I didn't know this at the time. Hell, I didn't realize what was going on until I made a trip to their house one day. His father, John, hadn't shown up to work, so I'd been sent to go get 'em.”

It was probably late October and unseasonably cold, and the first thing I notice as I approach the house is Rick,” and Hershel's voice wavered at that point. He cleared his throat, and continued on, though his gaze had been adverted to outside the window, focused on nothing in particular but the memory of the story he was telling. “This little boy is sittin' in front of the door, pale as a ghost, marks all over him, and shiverin' because all he had on was a pair of pajamas that looked about as thin as a piece of paper. Now, it was probably seven or eight in the mornin', and there he is, just sittin' there, knees to his chest, shakin' so badly I could hear his teeth chatterin' from ten feet away. 

Soon as he looked up at me, all I saw were those bright blue eyes, and I tell you, I've never seen a child look so scared in my life. When he saw me, he started cryin', tears pourin' everywhere, so I took off my coat and wrapped him up in it. And when I picked him up...” and his voice trailed off for a moment, and Daryl could tell the man was trying to avoid crying himself. After a moment, he finally continued. 

“The child was skin and bones, one of the worst cases of malnutrition I'd ever witnessed, and he just kept mumbling over and over again, 'I think mama's gone.' That man had beaten Elizabeth so badly that I thought she was gone too, but I managed to get her to the hospital in time. The physical wounds eventually healed, and we became good friends. One thing led to another, and we were married shortly after. It wasn't too long after that, Rick was probably eleven or so, when the Walsh's moved to town. 

I'd known from the moment I met Shane that he was nothin' but trouble. It was inevitable that they became friends though; we lived right next to each other until they graduated high school. Now I'll be honest with you, I didn't think at first that there was anything going on between the two of them. It wasn't until they were both newly minted sheriff's deputies and I went to visit Rick that I knew they were more than just best friends. 

They were livin' together, and I remember knockin' on that door and when he opened it up and had that black eye, I knew—I just knew that somethin' wasn't right. I didn't want to believe it at first. Hell, he had claimed that he'd gotten it on the job, some kid sucker-punched him, and that was that. I forced the excuse down my throat, and left it at just that. Then, when he was visiting for Christmas, I happened to see the bruises on his wrist. Now, his mother would've lost it had she seen them, but luckily, she was too preoccupied with other things, and I didn't have the heart to tell her my suspicions. But the more I thought about it, how he'd have bruises and cuts when he was younger—I'd just played them off to him being a kid and gettin' into fights or rough housin'. But after I saw them on his wrist—I knew better. Even after all these years, he's still never been able to admit what's been going on, but I've known.”

Daryl sat there listening patiently, though inwardly, he was anything but. 

“That Walsh boy has been in his life almost as long as I have, and they have been inseparable ever since they first met. And I tried my damnedest to keep them apart, but somehow, Shane always found a way to get to him. Now, I may not approve of their lifestyle, but I love Rick like he was my own, and I hate what that man's done to him. I've even went so far as to beg, tried to get him to move in with me and his sisters, but he refuses. No matter how many black eyes and bruises and broken bones he gets, he just always tells me it was an accident or that he's fine, but I know he's not.”

Which brings me to my point. If you're gonna remain his friend, you have to be there for him, no matter what he says. Protect him as best you can, and if there is even the most remote possibility that you find away to get him away from that monster, do it. Do you understand everything I've said?”

Daryl swallowed thickly. “Yes, sir,” he replied gruffly, trying desperately to calm himself. He couldn't help but be angry; angry at the fact that Rick had to suffer, both then and now. 

He really wanted to punch that cop in the face the next time he saw him. He wondered if he'd actually be able to hold back now or not. 

“Good. You might wanna start headin' towards that elevator now. He'll be out any minute,” Hershel informed him, and as Daryl glanced down at the clock on the dash, he saw that an hour almost had went by. 

“Sure thing,” the Georgian said, and exited the car. The sunlight that had been peaking through the clouds earlier had disappeared; rain coming in its wake. Daryl hurried inside the hospital, going straight for the elevator that he had dropped Rick off at. He waited for almost ten minutes before he decided he'd just go up there himself. Just as he'd pushed the up button on the side panel, the door dinged open. He looked up and there was Rick, blue eyes bright and lighting up when they met Daryl's. “Hey, there,” Daryl greeted. He was trying his hardest to smile, but all the things Hershel had just told him were weighing heavily on his mind. All he wanted to do was whisk Rick away, and protect him and make him forget about all the terrible things that had happened to him; but deep down, he wondered if that was even remotely possible.

He wasn't a stranger to abuse; and he remembered the way his mother had been. Too scared to leave a man that claimed no one else would love her or pay attention to her, even as badly as he had. And, of course, she had believed him. 

Daryl wished that if he had been older, he would've whisked _her_ away. Things would've been better, and maybe, just maybe, she could've died happy instead of miserably as she had.

But he hadn't. And instead, she died alone; and he had been stuck with the rotten old man that was his father.

Rick's tired voice broke him from his thoughts. “I hope you didn't stand down here waiting the whole time,” he said, stepping from between the two metal doors, limp more pronounced than ever. 

Daryl instantly reached out for him, heart dropping when he saw Rick flinch away. His movements had been too sudden, too quick. 

“I-I got it,” Rick stuttered, one hand out in front of him in a defensive gesture, eyes trained on the floor. Slowly, he lowered his hand. “Sorry, I'm sorry,” he apologized, clenching his jaw. “It's just, I-I have to do this on my own.”

“How many times do I have to tell ya that you don't?” Daryl asked, keeping right next to him, step by step. “If you need help, I'm here, and I meant what I said, you ain't gotta be afraid to ask. After all, what are friends for?” And he forced a stupid, cheery grin on his lips. He knew he probably looked like an idiot, but it was for Rick.

And he was pretty sure he'd do anything for the man, even if it meant looking like a fool.

Rick glanced at him, and a small smile broke out on his face too. “Thank you,” he said, voice still quiet and barely audible above the din of the hospital. 

Daryl nodded, remaining by Rick's side as they exited the facility.

Hershel was waiting for them, car pulled up not far from the doors. Once they were both back inside, Hershel pulled off. “So how'd it go?” Hershel asked, glancing over at Rick. 

Rick shrugged in response, gaze traveling outside the window again. “He told me that I'm going to have to get it x-rayed again. He's afraid I might have re-fractured something.” He cleared his throat, his voice faltering at the last few words he had spoken.

The older man was silent for a moment, then nodded. “Well, you just let me know when you need to go, and I'll pick you up.”

“Okay,” he murmured, and Daryl caught him tapping his thumb against his fingertips. He quirked an eyebrow at the action, wondering if Rick did that when he was nervous. He made a mental note to investigate later. 

“You need me to take you an-” 

Hershel was cut off by Rick's cell phone ringing. “Sorry,” Rick apologized, glancing at his step-father before answering it. “Hey,” and his voice was so soft Daryl had to strain to hear it. His brow narrowed when he realized he was trying to eavesdrop, something he was pretty good at not doing. “No, Hershel just picked me up...Yeah, I told you it was today, remem—“ His voice got even quieter once he'd been cut off. “Y-Yeah, okay. Yeah, I'll see you later. Bye.”

Silence reigned over the car for the next few miles before Hershel broke it once more. “You two hungry? I can stop somewhere before I drop you back off,” he offered, glancing back and forth between the two of them. 

Rick silently shook his head in response, while Daryl just stayed quiet, choosing at that moment to remove another cigarette from his pack. 

“It's okay if you want to. It's no trouble, you know that,” Hershel tried again. 

“I'm not really hungry,” Rick stated, still not making eye contact with the older man. “But if Daryl wants something...” and his voice trailed off as he glanced at the man in the back seat. 

“I'm good. Thank you though,” Daryl replied, taking a drag off his smoke as he tried not to let too many raindrops inside the car. Luckily, it wasn't pouring. 

“Alright, just...make sure you try to eat something later, okay?” Hershel said, looking back over at Rick. The younger man nodded in response, but said nothing. “You don't need to lose anymore weight,” he added, and Daryl didn't miss the way Rick's eyes narrowed, but still, he said nothing. 

It wasn't too much longer before they were pulling back up in front of the apartment building, the rain starting to come down harder. “Give me a call when you need to go get those x-rays done, okay?” Hershel offered.

“Yeah, of course,” Rick replied, and the smile on his face was forced but polite. “Thanks again for the ride,” he said, and got out of the car. 

“Yeah, thanks, Hershel. Have a good one,” Daryl chimed in, patting the old man on the shoulder before he got out. He hurriedly came to stand in front of Rick, waiting patiently, just in case. 

“You too,” the older man replied, worried expression still cast over his features as he eased the car away from the curb and back out onto the street. He waved at them, then drove off. 

“So, you gonna go up them steps all by yourself, or you want me to carry you up there?” Daryl teased, not caring that he was getting rained on. He did care that Rick was though. The last thing the man needed was to get even sicker than he already had been; if he even was in the first place.

“You're gonna make me weak if I keep letting you help me,” Rick shot back, pained smile tugging at his lips. 

Daryl scoffed and rolled his eyes. Then, as he watched the rain start to come down harder, he got serious. “I can, you know. Carry you that is.”

Rick's bright blue eyes met his for a moment, and Daryl wondered if he was actually considering it. “That won't be necessary, as much as you might like it,” Rick taunted, and finally made it up the last concrete stair and inside the building. Daryl couldn't help but laugh at that, low and quick, but real. He honestly couldn't remember the last time someone had made him smile so much. Hell, he wasn't sure anyone really had. 

Rick was the first, and he'd be damned, but he liked it. And Rick. A lot.

“Alright, then, if you won't let me carry you up those stairs, then why don't you at least let me make you lunch? Might not seem like I got great culinary skills or anything, but I bet I could surprise you,” and Rick looked back at him as he prepared his assent up the next flight of steps, an unreadable expression set upon his visage. Rick glanced at the floor, then after another moment, finally nodded. “Okay?” Daryl asked, unable to hide his shock at the other man's acceptance. “Okay,” he reaffirmed, and started following him up the staircase. “I can still carry you if you want,” he added, chuckling a bit as Rick shook his head playfully. 

It took a few minutes, but they finally reached their floor, and by then, Rick had grasped a hold of Daryl's arm, not even seeming to realize it until they made it to _1211 C_. Daryl let a sly smile spread across his lips as he unlocked the door and let him in. 

His apartment was a little more sparsely decorated than Rick and Shane's, but it wasn't as though he had that many possessions to begin with. The living room was simple : an old but comfortable looking beige couch, a recliner chair of almost the same color, a modest sized TV situated in front of the two with a CD player off to its side, and the most massive CD collection Rick had ever seen. His eyes lit up as he scanned the names of the artists and albums. 

“That's quite impressive,” he said, still standing there in awe. 

Daryl chuckled lowly, and held his arm out. “What?” Rick asked, glancing at him confusedly. 

“Let me take your coat for you, and sit down,” he ordered, patting one of the cushions on the couch. 

“Oh, right,” Rick mumbled, clearly embarrassed as he slid his coat off and handed it over to the other man. As soon as he removed the brown jacket, his more recent weight loss was clear. His sweater sleeve had managed to catch on his jacket when he was taking it off, and though there were no bruises on it this time, it was skinny, even more so than the last time Daryl had caught sight of it. 

“Now that you're my guest, it's my turn to ask what _you_ would like, so what'll it be?” the Georgia native inquired, hanging his and Rick's jacket on the small rack near his front door. 

Rick slowly sat down on the couch, and shrugged. “Whatever's fine with me,” he said, glancing up at the other man, shy smile returning to his lips. 

“I bet you like tea, don't ya?” Daryl asked, making his way into the kitchenette area. 

“Um, yeah, tea's-tea's fine,” Rick replied nervously, gaze falling to the hardwood floor. After a few minutes of silence while Daryl made the tea, the smaller man spoke again. “May I ask you a question, Daryl?” 

The other brunette nodded as he came back into the living room, taking a large gulp from his own glass as he handed Rick his. “What's up?”

Rick stuttered on his words for a moment before finally clearing his throat and trying again. “Why are you so nice to me?” He glanced at Daryl for a split second before letting his gaze retreat back to the floor.

Daryl looked like he'd been slapped for a moment before responding with, “Why wouldn't I be nice to you? I mean, ain't like you've given me a reason not to be,” he answered, hoping he didn't sound angry because Rick looked scared now, and that was the last thing he wanted. “What I mean is—I like ya, Rick, you're a nice guy, and the first person outside of my band that's befriended me up here. That make more sense?”

Rick quickly nodded, brow drawn as he mumbled, “Yeah.” 

“Hey,” and Daryl's voice was about as gentle as he could get it. 

Rick slowly looked up at him, that deep rooted fear still glimmering in his eyes. 

“You ain't gotta be afraid to talk to me or anything. I mean, if ya trust me, that is,” Daryl stated, dark eyes trained on Rick's. 

“Th-Thank you,” the other man replied, forcing himself to take a drink of the iced tea. He held the glass up, ice cubes clinking, and said, “This is really good. Thank you, again.”

“You ready for some of my cookin'?” Daryl asked, and he had to stop himself before he reached out and lifted Rick's chin up, just so the man would finally look at him rather than the floor. “I promise it ain't roadkill or anything like that,” and that statement earned a laugh from Rick. It was an improvement, Daryl thought, no matter how small or quiet the action was. Better than nothing. “I'll take that as a yes,” he said, and held his hand out.

Rick looked up at him, and slowly took it. Daryl helped him up off the couch and led him into the kitchen. “This might take awhile, so might as well just sit in here while the chef gets down to business,” and Rick laughed again, louder this time. Daryl seated him at his small, round kitchen table, and got to work, pulling various ingredients out of his fridge and cupboards. “So, since you said you were sick, the first thing that comes to mind is soup. That sound okay?” he asked, glancing at Rick as he pulled a large pot from one of the cabinets. 

“That sounds fine,” Rick replied, taking another sip of the tea, his shaking hand making the ice cubes clatter against the glass even harder. 

“You cold?” Daryl inquired, looking up from the potato he was currently peeling. “'Cause if you are, I can turn the heat up.” 

Rick promptly shook his head, still looking like a tiny little mouse caught in the path of a gargantuan, starving tabby cat. “I-I'm fine,” he said, and glanced up, flashing a hint of a reassuring smile. 

Daryl nodded, and went back to peeling. “This is a recipe my mother taught me when I was a kid,” he said, brow narrowing a bit. He wasn't all that used to doing all the talking or even starting a conversation for that matter; normally, he was fairly quiet, but since Rick seemed pretty good at being the silent type, he figured being the instigator for once couldn't hurt. “Money was always pretty tight, so she'd send me to the store and make me get the cheapest shit I could find. Naturally, that turned out to be potatoes, since you get a whole bag of 'em for a dollar, and broccoli since nobody ever bought it, so they were always markin' the price down. She'd make a big pot, and it'd last us practically all week. She made it good too, so that's what you're gonna get today.”

“It sounds great,” Rick commented, gaze finally settling on Daryl's hands as he peeled and chopped the brown-skinned vegetables. 

“She used to make a great rabbit stew too, but luckily for you, I'm all out of rabbit,” he joked, glad to see that the gesture made Rick laugh again. Daryl wondered if the other man knew just how beautiful he looked when he smiled. He'd definitely have to tell him sometime. His slicing of the potato faltered for a moment when that thought crossed his mind. He wondered, would he ever get the chance to say something like that to him? Would the time ever come that he could do as Hershel asked, and take Rick away from that bastard cop?

“Are you alright?” Rick's question cut into his thoughts, and he realized he'd just been standing there, just staring off into space. 

Daryl glanced over at him and saw the worried look in his eyes. Reassuringly, he smiled and said, “Yeah, just fine. Sorry 'bout that.” 

“It's okay,” Rick said softly, a small smile flashing across his lips. “So what type of music do you play?” 

Daryl laughed a little at the question, and started to put all the ingredients into the boiling pot of water. “I think you already know the answer to that one.”

“What? Just 'cause you're from Georgia means you play country music? It's not very polite to be stereotypical,” Rick admonished him lightly, teasingly. 

“Well, I guess you're right. An' it ain't all the way country. Sounds more like Lynard Skynard than anything, I guess. We do a mean cover of _Free Bird_ sometimes, and it usually gets people's attention.” He refilled both their glasses, then sat down across from Rick at the table.

“So do you sing too?” And finally, he wasn't staring at the floor or the ceiling or somewhere else in the room; he was actually looking Daryl in the eye.

And Daryl couldn't help but just stare for a moment, gazing into the most magnificent pair of blue eyes he'd ever seen. Hell, he was mesmerized. 

“Well, do you?” Rick repeated, the smile growing larger and actually reaching his eyes for a change.

Daryl laughed at himself then shook his head. “Um, not really. I do mostly background vocals. I mean, I do sometimes I guess.” And he could feel himself growing embarrassed at his inability to answer correctly.

“So you do then?” And Rick was still staring at him, smile growing wider still.

“Yeah, yeah, I do. You got me,” Daryl admitted, nodding, smiling shyly and suddenly he felt like he was in high school again, about to ask Abigail Jones, the most popular girl in his class, out. 

“You write songs too?” And the Georgian finally realized that the expression on Rick's visage was one of intrigue. He laughed inwardly because he'd never felt himself to be that interesting to anyone. 

He didn't answer as he got up, hurriedly busying himself with stirring the soup. 

“Daryl...” And the taller man almost lost it then and there. The way Rick said his name brought chills to his spine, and stirred something within him that he'd never quite felt before. It was beginning to have physical effects on him too.

“I do from time to time,” he muttered, shrugging. “They ain't nothin' special though.” He finished stirring the soup, and made his way into the living room, retrieving his pack of smokes from his jacket. He needed one badly right about now, and hurriedly lit it up as he returned to the kitchen. 

“I bet they are,” Rick countered softly. His gaze had drifted back downward, gravitating towards the floor. 

“You ask a lot of questions, Mr. Grimes,” Daryl teased, taking a drag from his cigarette, pulling the ashtray that was sitting on the corner of the table towards him so he could flick his ashes in it. 

“Sorry 'bout that,” and this time, it sounded like there was fear in his tone. 

Daryl quickly tried to ease the situation. “Hey, it's alright, no need to apologize. Was just sayin' is all. Only way to find things out's to ask questions anyway, right?” 

Rick nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed, though his voice still sounded far away and laced with sadness. 

“So, since I don't wanna be all stereotypical an' all, what type of music do you like to listen to?” Daryl asked, deciding it was time to turn the tables and get the other man to open up a bit. 

Rick glanced up at him, the tiny, nervous smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Anything, really. I like all types of music.”

“Is that right?” Daryl inquired slyly, letting the smoke circulate through his lungs before releasing it through his nostrils. 

Rick nodded shyly in response. “Whatever makes me feel somethin'. You know?” 

“Yeah, I know what you're sayin',” Daryl replied, and got up again to stir the soup. “Won't be much longer 'fore it's done,” he said over his shoulder. “Just needs to thicken up a bit more, and it'll be ready. So,” he started, sitting back down again, but before he could finish, Rick's cellphone started to ring. 

Fear flashed across Rick's face again before he pulled the cell from his pants pocket. “I'm really sorry,” the apology already leaving his lips. “I gotta take this.” 

Daryl could feel the anger and frustration start to creep through his veins, but nodded anyway, and got up, busying himself with retrieving eating utensils from his cupboards. Once again, he was forced to hear Rick's end of the conversation.

“Hello? Yeah, no I haven't yet. I'm goin' to in a little while...Well, yeah—no, but...I would have already but—yes. Yeah, I know...Okay, okay, yeah, I'm sor—yeah.” 

“So does he always call you twenty times a day?” Daryl asked, unable to hide the bitterness in his tone once Rick had hung up. He _really_ fucking hated that cop.

“I'm sorry, Daryl. May-Maybe I should go. I'm sorry.” The words rushed out of Rick's mouth, and within seconds Daryl could hear the chair scooting out from underneath the table.

“Hey, hey,” the Georgian said, turning and laying his hand gently on Rick's arm, and the smaller man flinched away again so violently he almost fell, all the while accidentally knocking his glass off the table, and sending it crashing to the floor. Daryl quickly maneuvered his way around the table, making sure Rick didn't lose his balance, easily stepping over the broken glass that lay in pieces around them. “Hey, it's okay,” and Daryl knew that he was terrible at being soothing, but he was going to make an attempt anyway, no matter how shitty it was. Before he knew it, he had wrapped his arms around the smaller man, pulling him into a hug. 

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to,” Rick whispered, and Daryl could feel him shaking in his arms.

“You ain't got nothin' to be sorry about. It's alright. It's just a glass, Rick. Wasn't nothin' important,” Daryl said as quietly and as gently as possible. He held the back of Rick's head with one hand, while gently rubbing a circle with the other in the middle of his back. Rick was still shaking his head, continuing to whisper, “I'm sorry,” over and over again. 

One by one, Daryl could feel drops of something warm hitting his bare shoulder and sliding down his arm, and he couldn't help but feel guilty because somehow, he knew, all this was really his fault. If he wouldn't of opened his damned mouth, everything would still be fine. And Rick wouldn't be standing there now crying and shaking like a leaf.

“Hey, it's okay,” Daryl tried again, and slowly pulled away from the smaller brunette. Rick's eyes were still brimming with tears, and God, if they didn't look even bluer. They reminded Daryl of the ocean he and Merle had once visited when they were kids. Just an endless sea of cerulean, stretching for miles and miles, as far as he could see. Though there was a difference between that ocean and Rick's eyes. That ocean didn't look afraid, and it sure as hell didn't look so damned haunted or pained either. “C'mon now, why don't you sit back down, I'll get you another glass, and we'll enjoy that soup that's about to boil over there, okay?” 

Rick stared at him a moment before nodding, but mumbled, “I-I gotta clean this up.” 

Daryl immediately shook his head, and forced a sliver of a smile on his face. “No, I got this. Jus' sit back down, and I'll get this. Alright?” 

The smaller man nodded, and was soon sitting back in the chair, though there was still a look of guilt marring his thin features. Even as Daryl cleaned up the glass with a broom and dustpan, Rick looked as though he were supposed to be doing it. Once again, Daryl caught him touching his thumb to his fingertips. 

Daryl quickly disposed of the mess into the trash can, then dusted his hands off on his jeans. “Alright, you ready for that soup now?” 

“Y-Yeah,” Rick murmured, only sending Daryl a glance before he focused on a spot on the table, eyes still red-rimmed and sad. 

As he was spooning the soup into the two bowls, he barely heard Rick apologize again. “I really am sorry, Daryl. I didn't—I didn't mean to—to break the glass.”

“It's alright. It was just somethin' I bought at a dollar store anyway. Just a cheap piece of glass. Don't worry about it, okay?” he asked, and sat the food down on the table. He then took another glass from one of the cabinets, and poured Rick another iced tea. “Here ya go,” he said, then sat down and dug into his food.

“Th-Thanks,” Rick murmured, and Daryl saw the way Rick glanced at him, as though he was making sure Daryl was eating first, then slowly started to eat too. “This is really good, Daryl,” he quietly praised the other man, though his gaze was still lowered to the table.

“Thanks, glad ya like it,” Daryl returned. His own gaze lingered over Rick for a moment, watching as the man ate slowly, not even touching the bread Daryl had laid out for them. “Somethin' tells me you're probably a pretty good cook yourself,” he said, trying to lighten the mood once more. 

Rick shrugged. “I'm alright, I guess.” He sounded so unsure of himself, and Daryl was fully aware of what it sounded like to feel so insecure and self-deprecating because he himself sounded that way most of the time. But around Rick, he tried not to. Someone had to build the man up, and if no one else was going to do it, he sure as hell was going to at least give it a try.

“Oh, c'mon, I bet your like that guy on TV that can make a meal outta anything,” and Rick shook his head at the comment, but couldn't help but laugh a little at it as well. That alone made Daryl feel slightly better. Least he got the other man to smile again. That was something.

“I-I wouldn't go that far. Now, my mother on the other hand, she probably could've done that...” His voice trailed off, and suddenly he looked as though he'd said something he shouldn't have.

Before Daryl realized what he was doing, his hand was already reaching across the table and resting atop Rick's. “Hey, it's okay. It's okay,” he repeated, and Rick nodded, looking as though he were trying not to cry again. 

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Rick immediately tensed at the sound, and Daryl patted his hand once more. “Hey, it's alright. Gimme just a minute, let me see who this is.”

Rick nodded again, and Daryl reluctantly let go of his hand, his own still tingling as he made his way into the living room. He was a few feet away from the door when he heard his brother's voice calling out from the other side. “Daryl! I know you're in there little brother so open up!”

“Shit,” Daryl mumbled, running a hand through his hair. Rolling his eyes, he cracked open the door. “What d' you want?” he asked, already knowing what was about to happen. 

“Now that ain't no way to greet your brother,” Merle declared and let himself inside. He was about to continue on when he glanced into the kitchen, eyes narrowing in on the other man in there. “Oh, well, I didn't mean to interrupt anything,” he said, devious grin on his face as he put his hands up in a surrender type of gesture. 

“You never do,” Daryl muttered, folding his arms across his chest. 

“Well, I was jus' gonna see if you wanted to catch up, since I finally got time an' all,” Merle went on, looking back and forth between the kitchen and his brother. “But if you're busy...”

“Ain't never stopped you before,” Daryl spat, brow drawn downward.

Suddenly, Rick's soft voice cut between the two. “I appreciate the meal, Daryl, but I think I'd better get going,” and the man was already limping towards them, forced smile on his face.

“Hey, you ain't gotta leave...What's his name?” Merle asked, glancing at Daryl.

Daryl shook his head and rolled his eyes at his brother before looking back to Rick. “You really ain't gotta go. You ain't even even finished your soup yet.”

“You made him Momma's soup?” Merle feigned astonishment. “This mus' be serious.”

“Will you shut up?” Daryl threw back at him, suddenly feeling like a little kid again. 

“Thank you again,” Rick said, grabbing his jacket. “I'll, uh, I'll see you tomorrow,” he added, glancing back and forth between the two before letting himself out. 

“So my little brother went and got himself a boyfriend. Ain't that cute,” Merle cooed as he walked into the kitchen, immediately grabbing Rick's leftovers and helping himself to them. 

“You're a dick, you know that right?” Daryl quipped angrily as he picked up his empty bowl and set it in the sink. 

Merle shrugged, and continued eating. “Mmm, this really does taste jus' like Momma's. Least one of us learned something from her,” and he chuckled at his own joke. 

Daryl rolled his eyes again, and reached for his pack of cigarettes as Merle drawled on.

“Your boy must not be that big of an eater, or maybe he jus' don't like you're cookin',” the older man commented, chuckling once more.

“An' what makes you say that?” Daryl asked, lighting up.

“'Cause, this bowl was hardly touched,” Merle answered, grabbing a piece of bread and dunking it into the soup.

Daryl shook his head, and grabbed two beers from the fridge. He sat Merle's down in front of him, then sat down at the table. “So, you just come here to eat my food and run my guests away, or did you really want somethin'?”

“What? I can't just come see my lil' brother for the hell of it?” Merle asked, feigning innocence, and sat down where Rick had been sitting. Daryl's eyes narrowed, and he wished Rick was still sitting there instead of his brother. “Fine, whatever, you lil' serious bastard,” Merle muttered. “Got an openin' down at the shop. Came by to see if you wanted it or not.”

Daryl took a drag off his cigarette and eyed him warily. “I already got a job.”

Merle laughed and shook his head once more, finishing the food and setting the bowl down on the table. He popped open the beer, and took a sip. “That ain't no real job, son, an' you know it.”

“That's funny, 'cause I get paid to do it,” Daryl shot back, taking a long pull off his cigarette and blowing the smoke in Merle's direction.

“How long you been chasin' that dream, lil' brother? Huh? Now you and I both know that gig you got ain't never gonna amount to shit, so you might as well give it up and take the damn job while the offer's on the table.”

“Fuck you,” Daryl spat, gulping down the rest of his beer, and tossing the empty can into the trash. It clinked as it the broken glass that resided there.

Merle chuckled at the retort. “What, you finally grow some balls since you moved up here?” And his tone was no longer teasing, but menacing. 

“Look, Merle, thanks for the _offer_ , but I'm good,” Daryl stated, grabbing another beer.

“Okay, okay, if you say so,” Merle muttered, getting up from the table. “You jus' remember who was tryin' to help your sorry ass out when your forty an' still playin' at that bar down the street, strugglin' to make ends meet and livin' off of Momma's soup and Chinaman fuckin' noodles. You remember that, lil brother.” 

The older man began to walk away when Daryl's voice cut through the apartment. “When do you want me to start?”

A grin spread across Merle's lips and he turned back around. “How's eight o'clock tomorrow mornin' sound?”

“Sounds fine,” Daryl muttered, finishing off his second beer, and going for a third. He handed another to Merle, and lit another cigarette. 

His brother started to speak again, but he wasn't paying much attention. He could only think of that fact that his time with Rick would be cut short, but on the other hand, his brother was right, he was never going to make it in that band. It was just another fool's dream, just like his father used to say. Might as well quit while he was still behind.


	6. Low

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I just want to let you all know how amazing you are, and thank you so much for your support for this story. Warning : Evil Shane ahead. You've been warned.

Rick grimaced as he made it up the last step, clutching the basket of clothes he was holding so tightly that his knuckles went stark white. His leg was killing him, pain radiating up and down the entire limb, and he really hoped that he hadn't re-fractured something. That was the last thing he needed right now, especially with money being as tight as it was. He knew he needed to get a job, but with his leg hurting nearly all of his waking hours, it was hard for him to do much of anything. 

He limped down the hallway, unable to keep himself from using the wall for support. If this kept up, then he _would_ have to get a cane, and people would look at him as even more of an invalid than they already did. 

He sighed in relief when he finally made it to the door, pausing a moment before finally taking the keys out of his pocket. He was almost inside when he heard his name being called. 

“Hey, Rick, glad I caught you.” It was his landlord, Dale. The older man was dressed in his usual attire of khakis, a white t-shirt with an opened button-up one on top of that, and floppy fishing hat. “Oh, are you feeling alright?” The smile that had been on the man's face transformed into one of worry. 

Rick wiped the sweat from his brow, and nodded. “Hi, Dale,” he greeted the other man. “It's-It's that time of the month, isn't it?” he asked, setting the basket of clothes by the front door. “C'mon in, I'll go get it for you. Gimme one sec,” he muttered, and limped into the bedroom. 

“Are you sure you're alright? Seem to be favoring that leg more than usual!” Dale called out from the living room. 

Rick pulled their rent money out of the envelope that Shane kept it in, and counted it out. “Shit,” he muttered. They were fifty dollars short. 

“Uh, it's nothing,” Rick said, forcing a polite smile on his lips that looked more nervous than anything. “Um, I-I really hate to say this, but we're a little short,” Rick stated, handing the money over to the other man. “Shane gets paid in two days, I can have the rest to you by then. If that's alright.” 

The older man took the money, and nodded. “That's fine,” he said, giving Rick another once over. “And you're sure you're alright?” he asked again, unsatisfied with Rick's original answer. 

“Yeah, I'm alright, Dale. Thank you for being so understanding, and I'm really sorry that it's not all there,” Rick replied, feeling embarrassed at the fact.

“Don't worry about it,” Dale said, letting himself out. “You take care now, alright?”

Rick nodded, and closed the door, running a hand over his face. He knew things were tight, but he didn't realize they were _that_ bad. Sighing, he picked up the laundry, and set the basket down on the couch. He was thankful when he saw his notebook full of numbers and appointments on the coffee table, and carefully lowered himself down next to the basket. He flipped it open, and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. 

He made the appointment to get his x-ray done first; then called Hershel.

The phone rang a few times before he heard one of his sister's voices on the other end. “This is the Greene residence, how may I direct your call?” 

Rick laughed a little, then responded, “Hey, Maggie, it's Rick.”

She chuckled a little herself before replying, “I know who you are, silly. We have caller ID, ya know.” Her voice turned serious when she asked, “How are you doing?”

It was the question that everyone seemed to ask him, and he wished that he could've given an honest answer every time, because he was far from fine and he knew it, but he didn't. Instead, he repeated the words, “I'm alright. And yourself?”

There was a sigh on the other end. “You know, I'm your sister, and you can tell me the truth. If you're havin' a shitty day, just say it. I'll understand. I'm not a little kid anymore, Rick.”

Rick pinched the bridge of his nose, not liking the way this conversation was going. They hadn't talked for less than five minutes, and already she was upset. He couldn't win for losing. “I know that, Maggie. It's just...It's been a really long day, and—you know what, I'm sorry. You're right.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. It needed to be cut, had for awhile. It was just another thing he hadn't gotten around to doing. Least he still managed to shave almost every day.

“Hey, I didn't mean it like that so you can stop being so hard on yourself now,” she paused for a moment, his other little sister shouting something in the background that he couldn't quite make out. “Beth says hi, by the way. And she said she misses you too.” Her voice softened a bit at the last sentence. Then, she added, “So do I.”

Rick automatically replied, “I miss you guys too. Maybe after I'm done tomorrow, we can swing by there so I can see you two. How's that sound?”

His sister's voice brightened immediately at that, and he could picture the grin that was probably on her face. “That sounds great! Hey, Beth, Rick says he's gonna come back with Dad tomorrow so you'd better not have Jimmy over here then!” Maggie called out, and Rick held the phone away from his ear, though there was a hint of a smile on his face. 

“Jimmy, huh? New boyfriend?” The ex-cop asked, trying to sound interested, though his voice showcased how worn he truly was. 

“Somethin' like that. Well, I'm guessin' the reason why you called wasn't to talk to me or about Beth's love life anyway, so gimme a second, and I'll go grab Dad. He was outside last time I checked...” And Rick could hear the phone starting to shift on the other end.

It was at that moment, Shane came through the front door, and any trace of the smile Rick did have vanished. “Who you on the phone with?” the other man asked immediately, front door not even shut all the way before he started in.

Rick sighed, and forced himself to interrupt his sister. “You ain't gotta go to all that trouble, Maggie. Can you just let him know I scheduled the appointment for nine, so it'd probably be best to get here around eight or so?”

“Who you on the phone with?” Shane repeated, louder this time, eyes narrowed and brow drawn downward.

“Yeah, yeah, I can do that,” she replied, suddenly sounding worried. “Is everything alright?”

Rick mouthed ' _Maggie_ ' to Shane before responding back. “Yeah, everything's fine, sis. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?” And he tried his damnedest not to sound as depressed as he truly felt.

“Yeah, alright. Love you, bye,” she added reluctantly, and Rick hung up before she could ask any more questions. Just as he hit the END button, Shane smacked the phone out of his hand. It clattered to the floor, and Rick couldn't help but hope it wasn't broken. They didn't have money for a new one, and they didn't have a landline, so he'd be shit out of luck otherwise.

“When I ask you a question, you're supposed to answer it. You know that. So what was so damned important that she had to say?” Shane spat, dark eyes gleaming dangerously.

Rick swallowed thickly, letting his gaze fall on the floor and away from the painful glare that was being cast upon him. “She was just asking me if everything was alright,” he finally replied.

“And why wouldn't you be? Aren't you always?” Shane asked curtly, pulling him by the hair and forcing his head back so that he was looking up at the larger man.

Rick's adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed again. “Yeah.”

Shane glared at him for a moment longer before finally releasing him. Rick let himself feel a slight pang of relief until he realized the other man wasn't going anywhere. He stuttered on his next words, gaze falling upon the floor as he spoke. “I-I have to get my leg x-rayed t-tomorrow. There's a chance I might have re-fractured it somehow.” 

Shane's brow narrowed. “Is that right? Maybe you been puttin' too much weight on it,” he sneered, and stalked off to the bedroom. 

Rick couldn't help but feel as though he'd been punched in the gut. Sometimes, Shane's remarks hurt even worse than the physical injuries he inflicted upon him. And the snide comments were beginning to become an everyday thing. He had never been overweight in his life, not before the accident, not even when he was a child. He had _weighed_ more than what he did now—that was a fact, but he'd never been fat or even chubby. However, he had been self-conscious. He'd always tried his best not to show it, but somehow Shane always knew what to say and how to pick him apart, and that only magnified his insecurities. 

He rubbed the back of his neck as he forced himself to stand, swallowing down the knot in his throat as he limped into the kitchen. He'd lost track of time, and had completely forgotten about even starting dinner. It had taken him nearly two hours just to get their laundry done, and he still hadn't finished everything he was supposed to have. 

“What do you want to eat?” he asked, voice resigned as ever when Shane came back in there, donning a signature black t-shirt and khakis. 

“You ain't even fixed supper yet?” And all the anger and fury that he'd been wearing on his face before was back, his features becoming dark again. “What the fuck do you do all day? Seriously? I mean, you ain't got a fuckin' job, you ain't gotta do shit but clean up this damned place, so seriously, what the fuck do you do?”

Rick swallowed. His throat was dry, and his tongue felt like sandpaper as he licked his lips. “I had PT again today, Shane, remember?” he asked, definitive fear loud and clear in his tone. 

“And?” Shane asked, over-exaggerating the shrug on his shoulders. “What the fuck's that got to do with anything? It ain't like you stay there all day!” 

“No, but--”

“But what? Is there somethin' else you been doin' while I'm at work? Huh?” he spat, inching closer to the smaller man who had backed himself into the corner of where the kitchen cabinets met. “You been sneakin' around seein' that asshole across the hall?” He shoved Rick as soon as he got within arm's distance. 

The smaller man repeatedly shook his head, holding one hand out in front of him as he tried to slide across the edge of the counter in attempt to get away. 

Shane wasn't having it though. “Is that what's been takin' up all your time, huh?” Shane shouted, grabbing Rick's wrist and squeezing, grasp ironclad. He was in Rick's face now, but the smaller-built man continued to stare at the floor, eyes brimming with tears. 

“No, Shane, no-”

Shane tightened his hold all the while grabbing Rick's other wrist. He pinned them down at the slightly shorter man's sides, restraining him against the counter. “You have, haven't you? Bet soon as I walk out that door, you're over there a-knockin' on his, just beggin' to be let in, ain't you?” he shouted, spittle flying out between his lips. 

Rick was still shaking his head, murmuring, “No, Shane, no.” Tears were forming rivers down his cheeks, trailing through his stubble and falling to the floor. 

Shane squeezed his wrists tighter and tighter, and Rick couldn't help but scream out in pain. “Shane, please! I didn't do anything,” he pleaded, entire body trembling and betraying him. 

“You must think I'm real stupid, huh?” Shane drawled in his face, dark eyes aflame with anger. “I'll tell you what, sweetheart, I ain't.” He chose that moment to let go of one of Rick's bony wrists and backhanded him across the face. Rick let out a pained grunt, eyes clamped shut in pain. 

“Shane, Shane, I'm s-sorry,” he apologized, but Shane only laughed at the gesture. 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry. Lil' Ricky's always sorry,” the larger man taunted. “Well, you should be,” he continued, and backhanded him again. Blood ran down Rick's chin, his healed lip split once more. “Why do you always do this to me?” Shane asked, putting his forehead against Rick's. “Huh? Why do you always want to make me so mad?”

Rick stifled a sob, shook his head and shrugged. “I-I don't know,” he murmured. “I-I didn't mean to, Shane. I really didn't.”

Shane nodded, as though he understood. “Of course, you didn't,” he said, grip still nice and tight around Rick's left wrist. “Now, you understand why you get hurt, don't you?” Rick slowly nodded his head. “So you don't need me to explain it to you then, right?” And Rick shook his head in response, gaze cast downward to the floor. “Okay, alright,” Shane murmured, sounding calmer. The next thing Rick knew, Shane was opening the refrigerator door and shoving the wrist that he'd been holding just inside the opening. 

Rick stiffened immediately, trying to draw his arm back. “Shane, please, please don't! Please? I'm sorry, please--” He was cut off when Shane slammed the door on his wrist, and he couldn't help but cry out in pain. He was pretty sure it wasn't broken, but it hurt like hell and had to at least have been sprained, or bruised badly. 

“Now, you gonna be good for the rest of the night, right?” Shane asked, jaw clenched tight, anger still present in his eyes. 

Rick nodded, blue eyes bright with more tears. He honestly just wanted to curl up, and pass out. His whole body was hurting, physically and mentally. 

“Okay, then,” Shane said, withdrawing Rick's hand from the inside of the fridge. “Now, you're gonna make me somethin' to eat, then you're gonna go to bed. You understand?”

Rick forced himself to glance up at Shane, then back to the floor as he nodded. “Okay,” he whispered, voice barely audible in the silent apartment. 

“Good, get to it then,” the larger man ordered, finally releasing Rick's wrist from his grasp. He grabbed a beer from the still open refrigerator, then made his way into the living room and flipped on the TV. 

Rick stared down at his wrist. It was littered with vibrant blues and purples, and even a section of it was so dark it looked black. His eyes watered at the sight, and the pain that was still emanating from it. 

“C'mon now. Don't make me come back in there. I said get to it, so get to it dammit!” And Rick jumped at the sound of Shane's voice. He hurriedly set about making something simple, unable to do much with his left hand. In the end, he'd wound up settling on soup and sandwiches, hoping to God that it was good enough for Shane. 

With trembling hands, he carried the plate and bowl into the living room, balancing the plate vicariously in his left hand while gripping the bowl with the other. After what seemed like forever, he set them down on the coffee table and glanced at Shane as he did so. “Here-Here you go,” he said, and once he had earned the other man's full attention, it wasn't easy to miss the anger that waged across his rugged visage. 

“I tell you to make me somethin' to eat, and this is what you come up with?” His tone dripped with venom, venom and anger; and Rick couldn't help but be scared all over again, especially when Shane slammed his beer bottle down onto the table. 

“I-I would've made you something else, but we honestly don't have much else. I-I haven't been to the grocery store since l-last week. I-I'm sorry, Shane,” Rick apologized, right hand encircling his left arm, a few inches higher than where the bruises were.

“Get in the bedroom.”

“Sh-Shane, I'm-”

“What the fuck did I just say?” Shane asked, hands gripping the edges of the coffee table. 

“Okay, okay,” Rick murmured, backing up and almost falling due to moving too quickly. Pain spiraled up and down his leg as he limped past the kitchen and into the bedroom. He sat down on the bed, and put his head in his hands, unable to stop crying. 

He wondered if he'd even be able to walk the next day, let alone get his leg x-rayed. It wasn't long before he heard the sounds of the TV stop, then Shane's booted footsteps thumping their way across the carpet and finally into their bedroom. He didn't look up when he heard the door slam shut, only kept his head down and prayed.

It was going to be a long night.


	7. The Runner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to say that you all are awesome. Thank you once again for your lovely comments and continued support of this story.

Daryl paced back and forth in his living room, cigarette to his lips as his mind raced. He glanced at the digital clock on his CD player, the black and blue numbers stating that it was 8:05AM. He was supposed to have left at least twenty minutes before, but he couldn't help but have reservations. 

He'd moved to Lexington to start over, not to fall back into the same routine of having a day job, and doing whatever Merle told him to do. He'd wanted to play music for as long as he could remember, hell, ever since he'd found his father's old beat-up guitar when he was eight years old. Though it had been missing strings, the moment he'd strummed one, he knew that was what he'd wanted to do. 

It hadn't been easy to keep it a secret from his family, but he'd practiced and practiced until his fingertips had bled and then some. 

By the time he was sixteen, he'd managed to form a band with some friends from his high school, and even though nothing ever became of it, he couldn't recall being happier than he was when he up playing on that stage in the school auditorium. 

Then, he'd graduated and the band dissolved, leaving him stuck in a small hick ass town with nothing but mining and factory work to eat up his time. And when those routine jobs failed, Merle had been there to hassle him into working at his repair shop. 

Though once his brother got the opportunity to jump ship, he did, and Daryl was stuck with a business he didn't want, and a cancer-stricken old man to take care of. 

Once his father passed, he got the hell out of Dodge himself, and he wondered, as he paced the confines of his living room, if he really wanted to start that habit all over again.

He liked his band; they all got along, no problems or drama between them. They just drank, smoked, played music, and got paid to do it. The club they were playing at signed them to a four-night-a-week deal, and if he ever ran short on money, he bartended for those other days. 

He wasn't rich, and he wasn't making all that much, but it was enough, and he was pretty sure that he could be content with this life, for as long as it lasted anyway.

It was decided then. 

He put the cigarette out in the ashtray, and slipped on his jacket. He grabbed his keys out of his pocket, and exited his apartment, locking the door behind him. He had barely started walking down the hall when he saw Hershel approaching, worried look marring his aged features.

“Hey, Hershel, everything alright?” he asked, already knowing that they weren't. They couldn't be if he was up here.

“I don't know. I've been outside for the last fifteen minutes waitin' on him, but he hasn't come down. That isn't like him,” he stated. Before the older man could even reach out to knock on Rick's door, Daryl was already there, fist pounding on the white-painted wood. 

“Rick!” he called through the door, and he told himself that if the other man didn't answer in the next two minutes, he was going to break the damned thing down. 

“God, I hope he's alright,” Hershel muttered, and Daryl hoped so too. 

He continued to knock on the door until finally, it creaked opened, Rick looking much worse for wear on the other side. 

Daryl immediately felt anger course through his veins when he saw the black eye and split, puffy lip, the broken skin on the man's right temple, and the bruise that ran along his jawline. He wanted to punch something—break something, anything—but experience taught him that those actions would be fruitless in this situation. 

Rick didn't need more violence; he needed someone to be there for him, to make it alright no matter how temporary it might be.

“Son, why don't you go grab some ice for me,” Hershel instructed Daryl as he stepped across the threshold of the apartment. 

Daryl nodded wordlessly, and heard Rick finally begin to stutter behind him as he got the ice and a dishtowel. 

“I-I'm sorry I d-didn't hear you. I-I'm sorry, I-I was still asleep,” and Hershel quickly shushed the man, guiding him over to the couch. 

By the time Daryl entered the living room, Hershel had managed to get Rick to sit down, though the younger man had his head in his good hand, obviously ashamed of the wounds that littered his body. All Daryl heard were the words, “I'm sorry,” being repeated over and over again, and the need to find that damned cop and beat his ass all the way back to wherever the hell he came from flared up again. 

“Now, now, no need to be sorry,” Hershel reassured him as he sat down next to Rick, glancing up at Daryl and taking the makeshift icepack from him. Daryl continued to stand there, watching as Hershel gently lifted Rick's head up and put the ice on his swollen eye. “Now, son, you have to tell me if there's anything else wrong. Are you hurt anywhere else?” Daryl watched the hesitance in Rick's movements as the smaller man painstakingly lifted his left arm out to Hershel. The long sleeve of his sleep shirt had already ridden up a fair amount, and Daryl could already see the dark bruises that decorated his entire wrist. “Rick, as much as I hate to say it, I'm pretty sure we're gonna have to get that looked at. It looks pretty bad, son,” Hershel said softly, and Rick just shook his head, and murmured, “No,” so brokenly that Daryl just wanted to envelope him in his arms and never let go. 

“I know you don't want to, son, but it could be broken, and we have to find that out. Let's get you changed, then we'll head on over there.” Hershel was about to get up, but Daryl's hand was already outstretched, ready at any moment to help the smaller man. 

“I got it,” Daryl murmured, and even though it took Rick a moment to finally take it, he helped him up easily, patient as the rain as he guided Rick into the bedroom. “Which one's yours?” Daryl asked, nodding towards the dresser drawers. 

“The bottom two,” Rick answered so quietly Daryl almost didn't understand him. 

“Alright,” Daryl mumbled, and let go of the man temporarily. He grabbed a pair of black jeans, a t-shirt, and the over-sized brown sweater he'd seen Rick in when they first met. “You wanna do this standin' up or sittin' down? Which ever's more comfortable for ya, you just let me know.” 

Rick shook his head, gaze still on the floor, and murmured, “I-I can do it.”

Daryl shook his head. “I'm here to help you, Rick. Trust me, ain't nothin' I ain't ever seen before.” Those words drew the other man's attention, and his gaze shot from the floor to Daryl. There were fresh tears glistening in his eyes, and for a split second, they stared at one another until Rick looked away again. Carefully, he sat down on the bed and started to pull off his sleep shirt, but Daryl was quick to interject, sliding the cotton material off of Rick as gently and as quickly as he could. He didn't miss the way the man flinched underneath of him as soon as he got close.

A part of him wished that undressing the other man would've gone a little differently—had it been an entirely different scenario—but finally, he let that fantasy drift from his mind so he could concentrate on the task at hand. 

He made sure to take extra care with Rick's left arm, guiding it as best he could out of the shirt without hurting him further. Once it was off, he couldn't help but steal glances at Rick's pale skin, and the scars and bruises that made a map out of his flesh. He was skinny too, skinny enough that Daryl could see his ribs and that didn't sit well with Daryl. 

At all.

Biting his tongue, he promptly helped Rick pull on the t-shirt, then the sweater over that. Next came the loose sweatpants that he was wearing, and Daryl couldn't help but notice Rick's face reddening as he gently pulled them down. “It's alright, Rick. It's alright,” he said gently, and once they were off, he saw the cause of the other man's embarrassment; Rick's right leg. There were numerous scars that decorated the limb, almost all surgical from what Daryl could tell. He could see where the man had had pins holding his bones in place, the tiny circles reminding him of the cigarette burn marks he had on his own back and arms. It was painful just to look at, and he could only imagine what it had to have felt like. 

“Ain't nothin' to be ashamed of, ya hear me?” Daryl said, glancing up at Rick. The other man nodded, but still couldn't look at him. “We all got scars, Rick. Some more visible than others, but we all got 'em,” he stated, and slipped the jeans up over his legs. Daryl immediately held out an arm to help Rick stand up so he could pull the pants the rest of the way up. Once they were over Rick's hips, Daryl fastened the button, and the jeans automatically slid down a ways. “Where's your belt at?” he inquired, glancing around the room. 

He took note of how clean and precise everything was laid out, just like the living room and kitchen. Not a speck of dust to be found, not a thing out of place. 

“Closet door,” Rick murmured, nodding towards it. 

“Got it,” Daryl said, and hurriedly slid the black leather through the belt notches on Rick's jeans. His brow narrowed when he saw the holes that had been made in it, and he had to clench his jaw to prevent from saying something. There were many words on the tip of his tongue, but he forced himself to keep his mouth shut. He didn't want to hurt Rick's feelings, or say anything to make him feel worse than he probably already did. It was just clear to Daryl that the other man had been neglecting himself for quite some time, and not a damned thing had been done about it. 

He seriously hated that fucking cop.

“Alright, c'mon,” he said, leading Rick back towards the living room. 

“Thank you,” Rick whispered, his voice sending chills up Daryl's spine. It was so light, barely there, yet so loud and abundantly clear in his ears. 

He didn't respond to the comment though, just led Rick back to the couch and helped him put his shoes on. “You got everything you need?” Hershel asked, getting up from the couch. 

“I-I just need my jacket,” Rick replied, still holding onto the Georgian for support, but attempting to reach for the item at the same time. 

“I got it,” Hershel said, grabbing the jacket from where it was laid across the left end of the couch. “Here you go, son,” he said, and helped Rick into it. 

“You sure you don't want me to carry you?” Daryl offered, voice low and only loud enough for Rick to hear.

Rick immediately shook his head, but whispered, “Thanks, but I-I can do this. I-I'll be okay.” His gaze was still cast to the floor, and Daryl knew the expression on his face well. It was one of shame; one he himself had worn many a time. 

“Alright, but the moment I see you tipping too far to one side, all bet's are off,” he warned, forcing the smallest of grin's on his lips. 

Rick looked uncomfortable for a moment, then nodded, albeit reluctantly. He continued to hold onto Daryl as they walked down the hall and the stairs. Rick took them one by one, following Hershel slowly but steadily, pained expression evident upon his features. 

“You just say the word,” Daryl murmured, and he meant it. If the smaller man even looked like he was about to fall, he was going to catch him. Guaranteed. 

“I-I'll--” And Rick cut himself short, gritting his teeth as an obvious wave of pain crashed upon him. He made the smallest of noises, a pained grunt that Daryl wished would never come across the man's lips ever again, but he knew better. 

“Rick?” Hershel asked, pausing in his descent down the stairs. 

“I-I'm okay,” Rick replied, almost instantly. “W-We can keep going.”

Hershel glanced at him, then at Daryl, concern etched into his brow as he finally nodded and continued going down the steps. After ten painstaking minutes, they made it to the bottom floor. 

They were almost out the front door when Carol, the lady Daryl had spoken to before, entered, her daughter in tow. Daryl looked up at her and she moved her daughter out of the way. 

“Is he okay?” he heard Sophia ask. 

“He'll be just fine, sweetheart,” Daryl answered, sending a glance and a wink her way as well as Carol's. 

The older woman smiled grimly before protectively wrapping her arm around her daughter's shoulders and leading her towards their apartment.

Though it took another five minutes, they made it outside and to the car. Instead of helping Rick into the passenger seat though, he helped him into the back and climbed in along side him. 

Hershel started driving without a word, and Daryl caught him more than once throwing concerned glances at Rick in the rear-view mirror as they drove along. 

Daryl felt the urge to smoke, but held out, not wanting to choke the man next to him. Instead, he decided to focus his attention on him, stealing worried glances of his own out of the corner of his eye. 

Rick's gaze was held by the world outside the car, though from what Daryl could tell, he wasn't actually _looking_ at anything in particular. His hands were laying in his lap, trembling once again, and Daryl carefully reached over, placing his on top of Rick's. The ex-cop's attention was immediately drawn to the action, and fear had once again possessed his eyes, but it disappeared once Daryl murmured, “You ain't got nothin' to worry about. I'm here now.” Rick stared at him for a moment, and it wasn't long before fresh tears silently spilled over onto his cheeks, and he hung his head. “Hey, what 're you cryin' for, huh? It's alright,” Daryl gently soothed, and carefully wiped away a few of the tears. More continued to fall with each swipe, and it wasn't long before Rick's head was buried in his shoulder. He wrapped a protective arm around him, holding the back of his head with his hand, and running his fingers through the hair at the nape of Rick's neck. 

Daryl was going to get him through this. 

And away from it too.

If only things were that easy.


	8. No Harm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much shorter than I'd hoped it be, but it's an update I guess. Hoping I can get a much longer one in before the weekend's out. Many, many thanks to all of you wonderful readers as well. You all are awesome!

Daryl paced back and forth across the small ER patient room, wanting a smoke but telling himself that it could wait. Rick was more important. A nurse had come in twenty minutes before saying that it was time for Rick to get x-rayed, so that left an impatient Daryl and a somber Hershel to wait until he returned. 

After the twentieth time passing by Hershel, the older man finally spoke. “Why don't you have a seat, son? He'll be back soon.” 

“Sittin' ain't gonna do me much good,” Daryl replied, voice low and carrying a concerned tone.

“Neither is wearin' yourself out,” Hershel said, sighing when he saw the younger man showed no signs of slowing down. “Son, I know you're worried -” 

“That ain't even the half of it,” Daryl muttered, eyes narrowing as he thought of the asshole cop that put them all there in the first place. He brought his thumb up to his lips, biting down hard on the nail, the sound of it breaking almost as loud as his boots that were thudding against the linoleum. 

“He likes you, you know,” and those words stopped Daryl in his tracks. 

“What?” he asked, piercing gaze leaving the floor and focusing on Hershel. 

“I said, he likes you. I've never seen him take to anyone as fast as he's taken to you, 'cept for that damn Walsh boy,” he added under his breath. 

Daryl continued to stare at the older man, unsure of how to respond. He could feel his face reddening at Hershel's words. He hadn't even really considered the fact that Rick liked him, not like he liked him anyway. 

“Look,” Hershel began, a bluntness to his tone that made Daryl pay attention. “He trusts you, and that's not an easy thing for him to do at all. Just as I suppose it isn't for you either.” 

The Georgian couldn't help but feel uncomfortable. It felt like the walls of the tiny space were starting to close in, and the thought of getting the hell out of their for a moment didn't sound half bad, just so he could breathe, but then, if he wasn't there when Rick came back...

“He needs you right now, Daryl. Every time somethin' like this happens,” and Hershel's voice faltered for a moment, too many memories passing before his eyes. “Every time somethin' like this happens, I don't see him for months on end. And after all this time, I'm not sure if it's his choice, which I highly doubt, or Shane's. Either way, his situation gets worse and worse with each hospital trip, and I'm afraid that one of these days...” and the older man's voice trailed off, wavering too much for him to continue. He cleared his throat and went on. “I'm afraid that one of these days, he won't be able to walk away from the next accident.”

Those words excited a new level of anger in Daryl. By God, if he was gonna let that happen. He shook his head, dark locks swaying back and forth across his forehead. “I'll kill that bastard,” he stated in a voice that made the hairs on the back of Hershel's neck stand on end. “You can trust and believe, sir, that as long as I'm around, I'm not gonna let this happen again.” 

Hershel nodded. “I hope you're right.”

“Oh, there ain't no hopin' about it. Rick's never gettin' a hand laid on him again.” And the rugged man's tone was deathly serious, not a hint of anything less located there. “You told me if I got the chance to get him away from it, I should take it. Well, looks like I just got one.”

At that moment, the door opened, Rick appearing with a nurse in tow. She was light-skinned, with shoulder length black hair that was pulled back into a ponytail. “Have a seat, and the doc'll be in shortly with your results. You need anything else while I'm here?” she asked, helping Rick over to the bed.

Rick shook his head. 

“Alright, if you do, just press that button over there, okay?”

“Yeah, thank you, Sasha,” Rick said, sounding worn and appearing on the brink of exhaustion. 

“No problem, hun. I'll be sure to tell Tyrese you said hi,” she added softly before she went out the door.

Daryl watched the door close and quickly made his way over to Rick. “Hey,” he said, trying to sound calm even though he was anything but. Rage still flooded through his veins, but he knew he had to keep it under control. He gently took Rick's uninjured hand and ran his calloused fingers over the smaller man's. 

Rick glanced up at him, the smallest hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. He looked so sad and battle-worn. Daryl was intent to change that. 

“While we're waitin', I'm gonna go grab myself a coffee. Either of you want anything, or should I have even bothered to ask?” Hershel jibed in attempt to lighten the mood, earning a shake of the head from both men. “Alright, I'll be back soon,” he said, carefully patting Rick's good knee before going out the door. Daryl didn't miss the way Rick flinched in reflex, seeing it no matter how hard he tried to disguise it.

“I-I need to talk to you,” Daryl forced the sentence from between his lips. He wasn't good at this sort of thing, and hoped his awkwardness wasn't shining through. Knowing his luck though, it was probably written all over his face.

“ 'Bout what?” Rick asked, nervously finding Daryl's gaze and cautiously holding it. 

_Just do it. You can do this. Don't chicken out now, dammit. You got a pair so fuckin' act like it._

Daryl sighed, the internal pep talk he was having with himself spiraling out of control. “Alright, before you say anything, I just need you to hear me out. Okay?”

Rick blinked and nodded.

“I think-I think you should come away with me,” and he kept on, even though he could see the fear and uncertainty racing through Rick's eyes. “Just for a lil' while. Rick,” he said, gradually working up the courage to gently lay his other hand on the man's unmarked cheek. He felt the slightest bit of hope when Rick didn't recoil, but just continued to stare, bright blue eyes searing into his. “I'm not gonna let this happen to you again. You understand? You don't deserve this, you hear me? I-I wanna help you, and the only way I can do that is if we get away for a lil' bit.”

Silence passed between them for a moment until Daryl finally spoke again. “Do you trust me, Rick?” he recalled what Hershel had said, but it wouldn't hurt to hear it from the man himself. Doubt was always a constant presence in the back of Daryl's mind, and he craved reassurance though he'd never admit to it.

Tears glistened in the other man's eyes and he nodded. Daryl could feel his hand shaking beneath his so he squeezed it the slightest bit tighter. 

“Please let me help you,” Daryl pleaded, and there was an urgency to his voice that hadn't been there before. “I like you, Rick, and I won't be able to live with m'self if he does this to you again. Please?” 

“Daryl,” and Rick's voice was featherlight, on the verge of breaking. “It's not that easy-”

“Is it,” Daryl affirmed. “It is that easy. All you have to do is say yes.” Daryl was pretty positive he'd never been so spontaneous in his life, but Rick was his main priority now, and he was going to do everything in his power to save him. 

Rick's gaze defaulted to the floor as silent tears began to stream down his cheeks. 

“Rick, please,” Daryl said, and gently lifted the other man's hand to his lips. Rick's head jerked up at the contact, eyes incredibly bright and taken aback. It was a good minute before he finally spoke.

“O-Okay.” Rick's reply was quiet, so quiet Daryl almost didn't hear it. 

The Georgian bit his bottom lip, water in his eyes as well. “Yeah?” he asked, both hands now clasping Rick's. 

“Yeah,” Rick repeated, voice shaking as he spoke the single word answer. Daryl was damned happy to hear the other man's reply, but knew that Rick was right. It wasn't going to be as easy as he imagined it to be. But he was going to do for Rick what he couldn't do for his mother. 

He was going to save him, and maybe, just maybe, Rick was going to save him too.


	9. Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still in awe of the attention this story has received. Once again, I can't thank you all enough for your support and kind words. Though I know I sound like a broken record, they really do mean the world to me. It's a day later than promised, but alas, here's the next chap.

They were still holding hands when the doctor had come in. “Mr. Grimes?” the blond-headed man asked, looking up from his clipboard and between the two of them before zeroing in on Rick. 

“Yeah,” Rick said, voice still faltering. He cleared his throat and tried again. 

“I'm Dr. Jenner, and I'll be your physician here today. I took a look at your x-rays, and I have good news and bad news,” he said, stepping closer to them and pulling up a chair. 

Daryl stayed put in his position, hand still interwoven with Rick's. It gave the other man comfort, but his mind was still racing with worry.

“The good news first, if you don't mind,” Rick said, trying his hardest to not to sound as scared as he truly was. He knew the pain in his leg was bad, worse than it ever had been previous with the exception of right after the accident. 

“Well, the good news is is that your wrist isn't broken,” Dr. Jenner explained, reaching over towards Rick's arm. The ex-lawman immediately blanched at the close contact, the doctor moving too fast for his liking. 

“Sorry,” the apology immediately left Rick's lips, but the doctor shushed him. 

“It's alright. I should've asked beforehand,” he said, and kept his movements to a minimum. “It's going to have to be wrapped and you might have to use a sling for a few weeks, but after that, it should be fine. Naturally, use it as little as possible, and no lifting anything. Even when it starts to feel better, you still have to watch it just in case. The exterior bruising may fade, but as you know, the interior takes longer to heal.”

Rick nodded in response, knowing just how true that statement actually was. 

“Now, as far as your leg goes...well, that's a completely different story. We'll probably have to schedule a bone scan because I'm afraid there might be a stress fracture in your tibia. It's honestly hard to tell from the x-rays, but due to your history and the pain you've described, it's my best guess until we can get a closer look at it. My advice for now would be to stay off of it, and I do mean that. Put the least amount of pressure as possible on it. Honestly, crutches or a cane would probably be best, until we do the scan to know for sure.”

“Does that-does that mean I'll have to have another operation?” Rick asked, fear in his tone. The pain was almost unbearable last time, and if he had to go through that again...

“If it's just a stress fracture, no. Just more intense physical therapy. But there's a chance that if the injury doesn't heal properly, then you will. So I cannot tell you enough to keep off of it, alright?” Dr. Jenner ordered, staring up at Rick.

Rick nodded in response, but his mind was racing. He couldn't stay off of his leg. If he did, he'd be useless, and he didn't want to be useless to Daryl. He didn't want the other man to have to take care of him all the time, because sooner or later, he'd grow sick of it and want nothing to do with him. And he couldn't even begin to afford another operation. He and Shane were still paying bills from the previous one. 

“I'm going to prescribe something for the pain, and have the nurse take care of your wrist and schedule a bone scan so we can get a clearer look at it,” the doctor said, and stood up. “So stay put for a little while longer, and then you'll be able to get out of here. Sound good?”

“Yeah,” Rick replied with a nod. 

“Alright, take care,” Dr. Jenner said, glancing back and forth at the two men once more before exiting. As he was going out, Hershel came in. 

“Well, it looks like I just missed the party,” the older man joked, glancing back at the departing doctor. His demeanor changed once he saw the expression on Rick's troubled visage. “What's the damage, son?” he asked, taking the few steps over to the hospital bed. 

Rick glanced at him, and then let his gaze fall to his lap. “He-he said that my wrist is just badly bruised, and should be okay.” He cleared his throat, hoping that it would prevent his voice from continued shaking, but it was still there when he began to speak again. “And he said that if I don't stay off my leg, I'll have to have another operation.” Rick didn't look up once he had finished talking. He didn't want to see the hurt look on his step-father's face. It was inevitable that it'd be there, along with the constant worry that was also etched onto the older man's visage. He jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Least it's not as bad as we thought it might be.” Hershel's voice was gentle and careful, and Rick couldn't help but feel bad about it. 

“Right,” the ex-lawman agreed, voice taking on a lighter volume again. 

“We just gotta wait on the nurse, an' then we'll be able to go,” Daryl said, breaking his silence as he rubbed his thumb across Rick's fingers. His touch was so damned light and gentle – Rick couldn't even remember the last time someone had touched him like that. He was so used to Shane, and him being rough, always so damned _rough_. “Hey,” and suddenly Daryl's voice was in whispering in his ear, sending chills down his spine. 

Rick quickly looked up at him, eyes wide and searching. 

“It's gonna be okay, you know that, right?” And there was so much reassurance in Daryl's voice that Rick couldn't help but want to believe him. If Daryl said it was going to be okay, then it would be. It had to be.

Rick nodded, and the smallest of smiles graced his lips as Daryl gently kissed his temple. Suddenly, Rick felt tears come to his eyes, and he realized just how much he truly felt for the other man. It was as though a tidal wave of emotion crashed over him, and he was left drowning in its wake. 

He tried his best to listen to the other nurse when she came in a few minutes later to go over everything, but his mind kept drifting back to Daryl and how safe he truly felt when he was near. Daryl's presence radiated over him and he couldn't stop thinking about how much the other man had done for him up until this point. Daryl had planted a seed of hope in his soul, and he only hoped one day he'd be able to repay the man for it all. 

The sun was setting by the time they finally made it out, Rick reluctantly and stubbornly using the cane the nurse had provided him with. Daryl was by his side the entire time, one hand on his arm and the other drifting near his waist as they navigated through the halls and towards the exit with Hershel in tow. 

“I'm gonna go get the car. You two wait here, and I'll be right back,” he said, unpocketing his keys and making his way out into the parking lot. 

“You wanna sit while we wait?” Daryl asked, blue eyes gleaming mysteriously as they met Rick's. Rick held his gaze for a moment until he couldn't anymore, the tidal wave coming back in full force, and he knew if he stared any longer, he'd get pulled under. 

“Yeah,” Rick answered, clenching his jaw as pain raced up and down his leg with each step they took. The walk to the bench was short, and for that he was thankful. He let out a breath as he sat down, keeping his bad leg straight out in front of him as he did so. 

“So, you-you alright with leavin' tonight?” Daryl's voice cut through the cool air, and Rick had to remind himself that this was really happening. That they were really going to leave. His mind wandered back to Shane, and for a split second, he couldn't help but wonder if he was really doing the right thing. He and Shane and been together for the good majority of their lives, had been through so much together; but Shane wasn't here now. A part of him knew that if Shane truly cared, he would've been the one to take him to the hospital. Would've apologized for doing it in the first place like he had all those other times before.

_No, he wouldn't have done it all._

But Shane wasn't here now, Daryl was. And Daryl did care for him, that much Rick knew. 

“Yeah, I'm fine with tonight,” he replied, eyes trained on the parking lot as he spoke. 

“Good,” Daryl said, nodding. He was silent for a moment, busy collecting his thoughts. “I'm gonna have ma brother pick me up from here, plan on borrowin' his truck. To get to where we're goin', we're gonna need it.”

“Sure you don't wanna come with us?” Rick asked, hopeful. He stole a glance at Daryl, saw the small grim smile that curled up his lips. 

“I would, but there's some stuff I gotta take care of b'fore we leave,” the Georgian explained, and a stab of fear twisted in Rick's gut at his words. 

“Please don't hurt him,” he managed to get out before his voice cracked, and he could feel tears beginning to swim in his eyes again. “I know – I know what he's done...” Daryl immediately wrapped his arms around him, and pulled him close.

“Hey, don't worry, alright?” Daryl said as soothingly as he possibly could, and Rick nodded into his shoulder though he knew better. He wasn't an idiot and he knew how much Daryl hated Shane. Hell, that was pretty evident ever since their first meeting, but still. Rick didn't want anyone else to get hurt, not even Shane. “I'm jus' gonna go over to your apartment, get some a your things, and then I'll come out to Hershel's and we'll leave. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Rick answered. He slowly pulled away from Daryl once he realized Hershel was parked in front of them. 

“I'll only be a few hours at the most, and I'll call for directions when I leave. Hey,” Daryl said, and suddenly there was a warm, comforting hand on Rick's unbruised cheek. “Go spend time with your sisters and your dad, and I'll see ya soon.”

“Alright,” Rick said, nodding, forcing the smallest of smiles on his lips. He went to stand on his own, but Daryl was already up and ready, arm held out for him to grab a hold of. “Please be careful,” he said once Daryl had gotten him situated in the passenger seat. 

“I will,” Daryl replied, and closed the door. 

“You're not coming?” Hershel asked through the partly rolled down window. 

Daryl shook his head in response. “Gotta tie up some loose ends,” he explained, hand reaching into his pocket for his cigarettes and lighter.

“Are you sure you don't need a ride?” the older man inquired, and Daryl couldn't help but throw a smile Rick's way due to Hershel's persistance. Rick smiled his shy smile in return.

“Nah, I'll be alright,” Daryl said, lighting up his Marlboro. 

“Alright, if you're sure. See you later, son,” Hershel called out and pulled off. Rick watched as Daryl grew smaller and smaller in the side-view mirror until they turned a corner and he disappeared from sight. 

Though they weren't even two blocks apart, Rick missed him already. Missed how warm and solid the other man felt next to him. 

“I'm guessin' I'm not takin' you back to your apartment,” Hershel's voice broke Rick from his thoughts. 

Rick shook his head. “No, not tonight.”

A few more moments of silence passed when his step-father spoke again. “Son?”

The word drew Rick's gaze away from the window, and the darkness that was beginning to conquer the sky. “Hmmm?” he responded, not missing the way the older man's eyes appeared to be watering.

“You're doing the right thing. Don't think you for a second you aren't. Daryl – he's a good man. I'm proud of you,” he said, eyes still on the road, but the there was a smile that Rick knew was directed towards him curling up the corners of his lips. 

Rick stayed silent, ever adverse to praise, but the tiny shy grin that he wore when he thought of or saw Daryl slid across his mouth as they drove on, and he knew Daryl had been right all along. Everything was going to be okay.


	10. You Belong To Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _When you make plans, God laughs._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are incredible, and I just want to reiterate how awesome you all are for sticking with this story. Thank you so much for your wonderful compliments and comments. ♥

Daryl had just finished his second cigarette when Merle pulled into the parking lot. Cruising over the speed-bumps with ease, he pulled up in the '73 Ford 250, glare focused on his little brother.

As soon as Daryl saw the expression, he rolled his eyes and hopped in, slamming the door behind him. Almost immediately, he reached into his pocket, and pulled out another Marlboro. 

“When you said you was at the hospital, only thing I could think of was that you had somehow managed to git yourself run over or somethin' since you hadn't been able to make it into my fine business establishment this mornin'. I can see now that ain't the case. So, lil' brother, you care to tell me what exactly is goin' on?” The older man gripped the steering wheel, steely gaze traveling back and forth between the road and Daryl. 

“Somethin' came up,” Daryl answered simply, taking a long drag off his smoke. 

“You don't say?” Merle asked, feigning disbelief. “Something came up, huh? Who woulda thought? You know, Darlena, usually when somethin' 'comes up', polite people tend to call and let their brothers know that they ain't gonna stay true to their word, and show up when they're supposed to.” 

Daryl sighed and flicked his ashes out the window. “I'm sorry I didn't call ya sooner, but it was an emergency, alright? Ma mind wasn't exactly on you or your shop.”

“Will you cut the shit already and tell me what the hell happened? I ain't no goddamned mind reader, and I'm sure as fuck done with playin' twenty questions. So, you gonna tell me what the hell's goin' on, or am I gonna have to pull over and beat it out of ya?” Merle threatened, ignoring the speed limit signs that were posted on the side of the highway. 

Daryl clenched his fist at that, and responded with, “You pull over, it won't be me that get's the shit beaten out of 'em.”

Merle chuckled at that, hooting and hollering as he did so. “Oh, I never in a million years thought the day would come when ol' Darlena finally started actin' like a man. This must have somethin' to do with your _friend_ across the hall from ya.” 

“Give the man a medal,” Daryl mumbled sarcastically, taking another puff from the cigarette. He let silence settle between them for a moment before speaking again. “His friend messed 'im up pretty good. So, I told 'im I'd get 'im outta town for awhile. That's why I need your truck.”

“Couldn't you a jus' said that in the first damn place? Jesus H Christ, son, think you're a damn man a mystery or somethin'? Just open up your fuckin' mouth next time.”

“Can't b'lieve you just compared me to James Bond,” Daryl said, allowing himself to laugh lowly at that. 

“Lil' fucker,” Merle muttered, shaking his head but letting himself snicker at his words as well. “So how long you gonna need it for?” he asked after a moment. 

“'Bout a week or so,” Daryl answered, finishing his cigarette and tossing it out the window. 

“And jus' where exactly do you plan on goin'?” Merle inquired, quirking an eyebrow. 

Daryl smirked at that, gaze still focused outside the window. “That's a need to know basis, an' right now, you don't need to know.”

“Fine, don't tell me, you lil' bastard. If I need ya, I'll just send smoke signals since your ass don't like to carry a damn cell phone.”

Daryl sighed and ran a hand through his shaggy hair. “Goin' up to the cabin, asshole,” he replied, inwardly thankful when he saw Merle's street ahead. 

“I thought you sold that damn thing,” Merle said, flipping on his blinker and making the turn onto his street. 

“Nah. Decided to keep it, just in case.”

“Just in case a what? The apocalypse?” Merle asked, chuckling again at his words. He pulled up in front of his one-story home, and shut the truck off. 

“In case I wanted to get away for a lil' while, Oprah,” Daryl shot back, and hopped out of the Ford. 

“Fuck you,” Merle retorted, and got out as well. 

“Well, stop askin' so many damned questions then,” Daryl said, and made his way over to the driver's side. 

“Take care a her,” the older man said, patting the roof of the truck. 

“Sure thing,” Daryl said, opening up the door. 

“Hey, stay outta trouble, lil' brother, and don't do nothin' I wouldn't do,” Merle said, backing away from the vehicle. 

“Thanks again,” Daryl said as he started it. 

“Yeah, yeah. Take care a your _friend_ too,” Merle joked, and made his way up the walkway to his house. 

“Fuck you!” Daryl called out before driving off, making a U-turn and going back the way they had came from. He flipped the radio on, turning the volume up as loud as it would go. One of his favorite bands was playing, a group called _Led Zeppelin_. The sound system wasn't all that great, since his brother never bothered to replace the original, but he didn't mind all that much. Long as he could hear and understand the music, that was all that mattered. 

The drive back to the apartment only took all of fifteen minutes, but felt like so much longer. He wanted to make sure he got there before the cop did, that way he could surprise the bastard. He parked the truck on the opposite side of the street, taking note that the cop's jeep was still nowhere to be seen. Daryl quickly made his way up the concrete steps and through the door, up the winding staircase and finally down the hall to his apartment. 

He flipped the light on, and hurriedly grabbed some clothes and other much needed items, stuffing them into his pack. He was almost out the door before he remembered something else. “He did say he wanted to hear ya play sometime,” he muttered to himself, and grabbed his guitar. He did a quick mental check, making sure he wasn't forgetting anything, and went out the door, locking it securely behind him. 

He then made his way across the hall, fishing the key Rick had given him out of his pocket. He let himself in, quietly opening the door, and peering inside. It was still dark, so he hastily found the light and switched it on. Everything looked exactly as it had that morning. Staying alert, he walked past the living room and kitchen, and made his way into the bedroom. Opening the extra pack he had brought, he went over to the dresser he had gotten Rick something to wear from that morning and removed some more clothes. He picked a few pairs of jeans, t-shirts, and sweaters too. He knew how much Rick loved those over-sized things. Whatever was comfortable, Daryl supposed. He grabbed some undergarments for the other man, stuffed them into the pack as well, and zipped it up. 

He figured Rick might want some of his toiletries, so he went into the bathroom, and retrieved some shampoo and other items. It wasn't too hard to distinguish between what was Rick's and what was his asshole boyfriend's ( _ex-boyfriend_ ), Daryl reminded himself. He just flipped or opened the lid on most things. He had pretty much memorized every scent on the man, from the honey-tinged scent his hair carried, to the shower fresh after-shave he used. Once he had finished there, he retraced his steps back out and headed towards the living room. He was a few feet away from the door when he heard a beeping noise. He stopped, brow narrowing as he pinpointed where the sound was coming from. His footfalls thumped lightly across the floor as he made his way over to the couch. On the floor was Rick's cellphone, the screen stating that he had ten missed calls and just as many messages and texts pending. An uneasy feeling suddenly began to snake its way through Daryl's veins as he leaned down to pick up the hand-held device. He slid his finger across the screen to unlock it, and the last text message popped up on the screen. What he saw written there made his heart stop.

Next to a picture of Shane were the words **You should've known better. Now you're gonna pay the price.**

“Fuck!” Daryl cursed, his insides seizing at the text. “Fuck!” he repeated, and hurriedly found Rick's contacts. He scrolled through the list until he found Hershel's name, and immediately hit the call button, all the while slinging both their packs on his shoulder and grabbing his guitar. He locked the door behind him, panic making his heart beat faster in his chest when all he received was a busy signal. Another slew of curses left his lips as he bounded down the stairs, taking some two at a time until he reached the bottom. He continued to call as he ran across the street and placed their belongings on the passenger side of the truck. A busy signal greeted him with each new attempt. He hurriedly got in the Ford, thankful that Rick had stored his step-father's address in his contact information. Daryl quickly hit the navigation guide, barely paying attention to the directions as he got on the highway, and prayed that he wasn't too late.

T*W*D*T*W*D

Rick stared at himself in the mirror, weary eyes gleaming back at him. The bruise along his jaw had darkened considerably during the day, and was now a nice shade of purple. He ran his finger along it lightly, barely skimming the stubbled flesh there and winced. The area was tender and sore, just like his wrist and temple and leg. He sighed and ran his good hand through his hair as he exited the bathroom, flipping the light off behind him. 

He heard Hershel and his sisters' voices coming from the kitchen, and had almost made it in there when there was a knock at the front door. 

The smallest of smiles graced his lips as the thought of Daryl came to mind. “I got it,” he called out softly, and limped back towards the living room, still not used to the feel of the cane. He opened the door, horror washing over his visage when he saw Shane standing on the porch. His jaw dropped open, though no sound passed through his lips. He was far too shocked to speak. 

“Guess I wasn't exactly who you were expectin', huh, honey?” There was venom in every word Shane spoke, and he looked like a snake ready to strike. Rick could feel the rage emanating off of him, and all he wanted to do was back away, but he was frozen in place, unable to move a muscle. He tried desperately to respond back to Shane, but all he did was stumble and stutter on his words, his whole body trembling at the sight of the man before him. Within seconds, Shane's hands were on him, gripping him tightly by the collar and dragging him out the front door. Faintly, Rick could hear Hershel calling his name, but he didn't have a chance to respond. 

“See, my partner was takin' a PD in, an' while he was there, he just happened to see you,” Shane explained through grit teeth, continuing to drag Rick down the front steps and out into the yard. “And he also happened to see that fucker across the hall too,” Shane went on, not caring that Rick couldn't keep up with him. “Said he had his arms all aroun' you and was mentionin' somethin' 'bout leavin' tonight. Well, guess what, sweetheart, you ain't goin' any fuckin' where.” 

Rick didn't have any time to react as Shane threw him to the ground, and began to kick him in the stomach and ribs. All he felt was pain, and all he heard was Shane's grunts and curses, and his little sisters screaming for their father. Within seconds, Shane climbed on top of him and began to punch him repeatedly in the face. It wasn't long before Rick finally lost consciousness. 

“You've got two seconds to get off of my son before I shoot you,” Hershel warned, his voice cutting through the chilly air and straight to Shane. 

“Yeah, right ol' man. You wouldn't do that,” Shane responded patronizingly, standing up and facing him with a sneer on his lips. There was blood dripping from the knuckles of his right hand, and also some painting his face and shirt. 

“Don't second guess me, son. It'll be the worst and last mistake of your life,” the older man stated, piercing gaze locked on Shane, all the while his finger was ready and willing on the trigger of the Winchester rifle. “Now you may be familiar with this saying, so hopefully, like the previous criminals you've arrested, you listen. Put your hands above your head, and get down on your knees. Now.”

Shane laughed lowly and shook his head. “Seriously, this is how you're gonna play it? You really think for a second I'm afraid a you an' that lil' toy you got there?” 

“If you really think this is a toy, why don't you come closer?” Hershel offered, not moving an inch. 

The faint sound of sirens rang through the night air, and once Shane realized his options were slim, he stepped away from Rick and got to his knees, following Hershel's orders. 

T*W*D*T*W*D

The tires screeched as Daryl rounded a corner. He knew he was going too fast, but he didn't really give a damn. He had to get to Rick. 

The anxious feeling that was encompassing his chest turned to dread as he made the trip down Hershel's driveway. There were police cars and an ambulance there, the blue and red lights illuminating the nearby trees and lighting the otherwise dark area. 

“No, no, no,” he muttered, shaking his head as he pulled onto a grassy area of the yard and stopped the truck. He hopped out of the Ford without even bothering to remove the keys from the ignition, and quickly located Hershel who was being questioned by a deputy. The older man looked distraught and worn, as though he had aged ten years in just the last few hours since Daryl had seen him. “Hershel?” he managed to get the older man's name out, his voice low and breaking. 

The older man turned to him, blue eyes awash with worry and anguish. “Is he-” Daryl started, but couldn't get the words out. 

“It's pretty bad, son,” Hershel replied, voice laced with sadness. Daryl watched as the ambulance drove off, sirens loud and shrill and penetrating the otherwise quiet night. 

A wave of unquestionable rage flooded through Daryl, and suddenly his eyes were darting back and forth between the police cars. “Where is he?” The first time he said it, it was low and angry, the next time, it was loud and filled with fury. “Where is he?” he shouted, and his gaze finally landed on Shane. Without even giving it a second thought, he bounded over to the police car and threw open the door. The other man had been watching him the entire time, but wasn't expecting to be yanked from the confines of the back seat and thrown to the ground. “You fucking bastard!” Daryl yelled, and his fists began flying. He hit the other man as hard as he could, making each punch count. He managed to get six licks in before he could feel someone trying to pull him away. Even then, he landed a few more, and felt the slightest bit of satisfaction when he felt Shane's nose crunch beneath his knuckles, sending blood everywhere. “Think you're somethin', huh, motherfucker?” Daryl shouted, getting one last punch in straight to the other man's right eye. “Well, you ain't shit! You hear me? You ain't fuckin' shit!” he shouted, struggling as he was pulled up and away from him. 

“Sir, settle down,” one of the officers ordered next to him. 

“Fuck you!” Daryl shouted, still trying to kick at Shane who was barely moving now, just a few groans escaping his lips. “How does it feel, you bastard? Huh?”

“Sir,” the officer warned again. “If you don't settle down, I'm going to have to place you under arrest. This is your final warning.”

Daryl was about to spit back another retort when he heard Hershel's voice. “Son,” and he felt the older man's hand on his shoulder. He flinched at the contact, but it broke him from his craze. “C'mon. Let it go, son.” Daryl turned towards Hershel, and the next thing he knew, there were tears streaming down his face and he was sobbing. He felt the older man's arms slowly wrap around him, and he broke down, unable to hold it in any longer. 

“It's not supposed to be like this,” he muttered, shaking his head. “ 's not supposed to be like this. We were supposed to get away.”

“I know,” Hershel said, gently. “I know, son.” After a moment, he pulled away from Daryl. “How 'bout we go now, hmm? Let's go see Rick.” Daryl nodded and furiously wiped at his eyes and cheeks, though they were now blood-shot and red from crying. “We'll take my car.” Daryl heard the older man talking with one of the officers, but he soon drowned the conversation out. All he could think about was Rick, and how he'd promised the man that things would be okay, but they weren't. They were the farthest from okay that they could be. Guilt wrapped itself around his chest and squeezed, the feeling almost suffocating him. Rick had even asked him to come back with them, but he had said no. If he had gone with them, this wouldn't have happened, and things would've been alright. If he had just -

“Daryl?” It was Hershel's voice again. “C'mon,” he said, gently patting his shoulder and leading the way towards his sedan. Daryl followed voicelessly. Once he saw that Rick's sisters were in the back seat, he climbed into the passenger side, and shut the door. He rested his elbow on the door, and leaned his head against his hand, not caring that his knuckles were split open and bleeding. It didn't really hurt. Not right anyway. But damn did his heart.

Soon, the car was moving, but it was filled with nothing but silence and the occasional sniffle from the back seat. Daryl let his gaze fall on the world outside, but didn't focus on anything. His mind was on Rick, and how the fuck he was going to even be able to look at the other man after what had happened. After what _he_ had let happen. 

It was going to be a long fucking night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt so bad writing this chapter, but it had to happen. My apologies everyone! :(


	11. Both Sides Are Even

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I just want to apologize big time for being three days late at updating. It took me a little longer to get the chapter the way I wanted it. Anyway, once again I just want to thank every single one of you that's reading this story and that's leaving comments and kudos and support. You all are incredibly awesome and lovely, and I just can't thank you all enough.

Daryl sat in the uncomfortable hospital chair, left arm folded across his chest with the elbow of his other arm resting atop his hand. His right hand covered his face, the hospital waiting room lights far too bright for his eyes. He sighed and glanced at the clock on the wall. They'd been there for over three hours waiting to hear something about Rick, only to have the few nurses that were available tell them that he was still being worked on, and that they would let them know when they could see him. Daryl couldn't help but be anxious, yet guilt-ridden at the same time. 

The same thoughts just kept running through his head over and over again until finally Hershel's voice stalled them. 

“Son, I know what you're thinkin', but this wasn't your fault.”

Daryl slowly removed his hand from his face and looked over at the older man, a look of disbelief crossing his features. His brow narrowed, and he just continued to stare, willing to listen but unwilling to speak. 

“None of us coulda predicted this. You and I both know what type of person Shane is, and one way or another, he was goin' to find a way to hurt him. You were doin' what you thought was right, and there isn't a damn thing wrong with that.”

Daryl scoffed at his words and put his head back in his hand. “You can keep sayin' it ain't my fault all ya want, but if I had been there, it wouldn't a happened.”

“You have to let that guilt go, son,” Hershel said, reaching over and putting a reassuring hand on Daryl's shoulder. “If you don't, it'll eat at you until there nothin' left. Now, you don't think Rick would want that, do you?”

“Look, Hershel, I appreciate what you're tryin' to do, but it ain't gonna work.”

Before Hershel could reply, a man clad in a white doctor's coat and carrying a clip board came up to them. “Mr. Greene?” he asked, and all at once, caught everyone's attention, even Daryl's. 

“Yes?” Hershel asked, and stood up. “How is he?”

“We had to place your son into a heavily sedated state due to the severity of his injuries,” the doctor began but was cut off by Daryl's angered tone.

“An' what's that mean supposed to mean, a heavily sedated state? You mean like a coma?” Fear wound itself through his words now, and as much as he tried not to show it, he was afraid.

He caught the doctor's gaze and held it, making the man almost stutter over his words. “Well, yes. Due to the head trauma he's suffered, it's causing his brain to swell at a dangerous rate. We normally wait to see if it will reduce on it's own, but because of how rapidly it's swelling, we decided to induce him and not risk further damage, if there is any.” The man stated and glanced back at Hershel, though Daryl wasn't done.

“An' just how long do you plan to keep him sedated?” Daryl folded his arms across his chest, brow narrowing at the now apprehensive doctor. 

“Well, it all depends. If he responds well to the Mannitol, we could be waking him up within the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours,” the blond-haired man responded. 

“And if he doesn't?” Daryl challenged, voice deepening.

“If he doesn't respond to the current medication, then we'll try a different treatment. There are numerous other options as well, but at the current time, this is the best one we've got,” the man paused, gathered his bearings, then continued. “He's been moved to the ICU so we can keep him under close observation. It's on the fifth floor, so if you go down the hall and take the elevator on up, a nurse should be able to direct you to his room.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Hershel replied, tone grateful yet despondent. 

The man nodded and adjusted his glasses. “I really am sorry I didn't have better news for you, Mr. Greene.”

“I bet you are,” Daryl mumbled, his temper getting the better of him as he glared at the doctor and headed towards the direction of the elevator. 

“Thank you again -”

“Dr. Mamet,” the man finished, and Hershel nodded. 

It wasn't long before the Greene family joined Daryl by the elevator. They stood in silence as the door finally opened, allowing them all entrance. Daryl stood back and let them go before him. Once they were all loaded in, he jabbed the fifth floor button and stood back on the opposite side of them, leaning against the wall and folding his arms across his chest.

Just after they'd passed the second floor, one of Rick's sisters' voices cut through the hum. “Is Rick gonna die?” Daryl's head jerked sharply in their direction, and he saw that it was the smaller blonde one. She looked to have been thirteen, possibly fourteen at the oldest, and there were tears streaming down her cheeks. Her older sister immediately put her arms around her, and shook her head. “He's gonna be fine. Just like always,” she murmured as she rubbed soothing circles on the younger girl's back. The expression in her eyes though, contrasted with her words. 

The monster wave of guilt crashed over Daryl once more and all but consumed him, and he wished the cop was standing in front of him again so he could beat him dead. Daryl had a rage in him that he tried desperately to contain, but he was sure that if he ever saw Shane again, his restraint would be nil and he'd probably go to jail for murder. But since he had nothing else to take his guilt out on but himself, he clenched his hands, letting the pain of his broken knuckles be his focus. 

“Beth, your brother is gonna be just fine now, you hear me?” And this time Hershel spoke, putting an arm around his youngest daughter. “He's a fighter if there ever was one. He's gonna be alright. We just have to give him a little time.” 

Daryl clenched his jaw, inwardly thankful when the elevator stopped and announced that they had arrived at their destination. Once again, he stayed back, allowing Rick's family to go ahead of him. He followed them to the nurses station where Hershel asked for Rick's room number. 

“He's in room 209,” an auburn-haired woman wearing blue scrubs responded. “If you go down the hall, and to your left, it'll be the first room on your right.” 

“Thank you,” Hershel responded, leading the way towards Rick's room. He opened the door, allowing Maggie and Beth to go in, but Daryl hesitated and stayed back. 

“Don't you want to see him?” Hershel asked, obvious pain in his eyes, but his voice didn't showcase it. 

“Better if y'all go ahead,” he answered, keeping his distance and folding his arms across his chest again. 

“Are you sure?” Hershel inquired, confusion marring his visage. 

“Honestly, sir, I think – I think I'd rather see him alone, if that's okay with you,” Daryl forced out, wary eyes glancing through the open door, then back at the older man. 

A look of understanding settled on Hershel's face and he nodded. “Of course, son.” Hershel offered him a sad smile, then went in, the door closing behind him.

Daryl sat down in one of the chairs that were on the other side of the hallway and leaned over, placing his elbows on his knees and ran this hands through his hair. 

He scrubbed one hand down the side of his face, the stubble rough underneath his fingertips. He glanced up, gaze focusing on the light brown door in front of him and couldn't help but feel nervous. The tip of his thumb found its way to his mouth, and he bit down on what was left of the nail. 

The minutes started to pass, and before he knew it, the door was swooshing open and one by one, the Greene family came out of the room. Daryl's gaze shot up, and he didn't miss the way all of their eyes appeared blood-shot, even Hershel's. His heart sank at that, and he couldn't help but wonder just how many times they'd been in this situation. He did know one thing, he wasn't ever going to let it happen again. This would be the last time they'd ever have to see their son or brother lying in a hospital be because no one was ever going to hurt Rick again. He'd do everything in his power to see to that.

“We're gonna go grab somethin' from the cafeteria,” Hershel said, and Daryl stood up, the sense of anxiousness that suddenly swept over him making his hands shake. “We'll be back in a little while so you keep an eye on him, alright?”

Daryl nodded, remaining still until the trio walked away and disappeared down the hall. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed a hold of the cool-to-the-touch door handle and went in. 

His heart immediately broke at the sight of Rick. With each step he took towards the comatose man, it felt like a knife was being lodged into his chest, deeper and deeper until it pierced his heart and broke through it. There were various machines on each side of him, one for his blood pressure and pulse, an IV drip, and a ventilator as well. 

Daryl's breath caught in his throat when he saw just how badly the other man had been beaten. His right eye was swollen shut; his lip was busted, split open in at least two places and puffy too; and there were numerous bruises and abrasions all over the rest of his face. The color of his skin was more purple and blue than its usual pallor. 

The sound of the ventilator breathing for Rick echoed throughout the small room, the noise creating an unsettling feeling in Daryl. It horrified him more than anything. Just to know that the man he was sure he'd come to love wasn't even able to breath on his own at the minute. 

With a trembling hand, he reached out and enclosed Rick's in his. It was cold, so he quickly covered it with his other hand, rubbing his fingers gently across the cool flesh. 

“Rick,” he started, and his voice came out cracked and broken. He cleared his throat, and tried again. “Rick – I'm sorry. I'm so fuckin' sorry.” He knew that he was crying, and there wasn't a damned thing he could do to stop it either. It just hurt too much. “I'm sorry I let this happen to ya. You didn't deserve this. You're too fuckin' kind and sweet and nice for this shit, and it ain't fuckin' right.” He furiously swiped at his cheeks, but more tears continued to replace the previous ones. “Look, I don't care what you have to do, but you gotta wake up and be okay, alright?” He sniffled, gently caressing each finger and knuckle of Rick's right hand. “See, this is the thing, I'm pretty sure -” he paused, and took a deep breath. “I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you, Rick, and I can't lose you, okay? If you were awake, you'd probably be teasin' me right now, but that's alright...because it'd be you. I'd give anything to see you smile right about now...” 

The sound of the door opening caught Daryl off guard, though he didn't move. He continued to hold onto Rick's hand, not even bothering to wipe away his tears. There wasn't time for being embarrassed right now. 

“I'm so sorry, Daryl.” 

His brow narrowed at the voice, because he was expecting it to be Hershel's, but it was anything but. He looked up through his bangs, gaze narrowing in on the newest occupant of the room. His features softened upon seeing Carol standing there, clad in faded pink scrubs and a long-sleeved purple undershirt. The expression on her face was sad, though without pity. 

“What are you doin' here?” And he felt like a fool after he asked the question, and Carol just smiled sadly again, heading over to the other side of Rick.

“I'm working the late shift tonight, and I happened to see his name on the list of patients,” she explained softly, gaze still focused on Rick. Silence drifted between them for a moment before she spoke again. “When I saw you two this morning...I had no idea that this would be the outcome. Since he and that – that _monster_ moved in upstairs, he's been in here at least five times, but it's never been this bad before. The fact that it's come to this...” And her voice drifted off, and Daryl watched as she wiped at her eyes. “He's such a nice man, you know?” she said, glancing over at him, voice on the verge of shaking. “Any time he'd see me, he'd always smile, even if it hurt, he'd still smile. If I needed help with anything, no questions asked, he'd help. I'll never understand why such bad things have to happen to good people.” She sniffled and swiped at her eyes again. “At least he's got you now. He needs someone like you. And I'm really hoping those bloodied knuckles of yours are because you took care of the man that did this to him,” she added, anger slipping into her subdued tone.

“Yes, ma'am,” Daryl replied softly, glancing down at his hands then back up at her. 

“Good,” she stated firmly, nodding. She sniffled and wiped at her eyes once more, then cleared her throat. “How about I take care of those hands, huh? It isn't very sanitary to go around dripping blood everywhere,” she said, and Daryl could tell that she was attempting to lighten the mood. 

“They're alright,” he muttered, gaze straying back to Rick.

“No, they aren't,” she stated in what could only be described as a motherly tone. “Have a seat, and I'll take care of them for you, okay?”

He was about to refuse again, but then he looked up and saw that the expression on her face was nothing but serious. He sighed, not wanting to let go of Rick, but did anyway, carefully and gently releasing his hand. 

“He's going to be okay, you know,” she said as Daryl sat down in the chair she had pulled out for him. 

He didn't speak, just kept his eyes on Rick, wishing that he could hold the man and never let him go. He hissed when he the alcohol met his skin, and his brow narrowed when he heard Carol chuckle lightly. “Hold still now,” she murmured, gently clearing away the blood and cleaning the cuts. 

“Easy for you to say,” he mumbled, though his tone was much lighter than it had been before. 

“Typical,” she stated with a playful roll of the eyes. “You look all big and intimidating until the alcohol strikes, then it's nothing but pouty lips and trying your darnedest not to show that it actually hurts.” Once she was done cleaning the wounds, she wrapped his hand, tight, but not overly so. “There, all done now. You need me to get you anything?” she asked while she discarded the bloody gauze and q-tips. 

“ 'M good,” he answered, glancing down at his freshly bandaged hand. “Thank you,” he said, peeking at her through his bangs once more.

“It's the least I could do,” she said, folding her arms across her chest once she was done. Suddenly, a beeping sound went off, and she immediately un-clipped the pager that was attached to her pocket. “I have to go,” she said, glancing at the small screen then hooking it back onto her pocket. “If you need anything, I'll be here 'til six.” She laid a comforting hand on Daryl's shoulder and lightly squeezed it. “If you plan to stay the night, I can get you something that'll be a lot easier on your back than that chair. Just let me know.” 

He nodded, and she threw another sad smile his way and went out the door. 

He quickly pulled the chair up to the side of Rick's bed, and took the other man's hand in his again. He knew he'd have to leave eventually, maybe go home and take a shower and get a change of clothes, but for now, he was going to stay. 

He _was_ going to be there when Rick woke up.


	12. Cause For Alarm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still cannot thank you all enough for your wonderful comments and reviews. You guys are too kind to me! Apologies for the long wait on the chapter. I was sick, and then was in a car accident, so it took a minute to get back into writing. But I'm back, and here's the next chap! Thank you all lovely people again! ☺

Daryl had reluctantly left the next day, but only to go pick up Merle's truck from Hershel's so he could go home and shower and put on a fresh change of clothes. He'd been gone for almost two hours, and in that time, he acted almost completely on autopilot, Rick a constant on his mind. 

It was going on five o'clock in the afternoon by the time he made it back to the hospital and to Rick's room. His oldest sister, Maggie was sitting in the chair next to Rick's bed, holding his hand. She turned towards Daryl the moment he stepped into the room, and he could see that she had been crying.

“You alright?” he asked, voice gruffer than usual. He'd been going on almost thirty-six hours with no sleep, and it was definitely starting to show. 

She nodded, and wiped at her eyes. “Tryin' to be anyway. How 'bout you?” 

He shrugged, and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I'll be okay when he is.” He took a few steps forward, coming to stand at the foot of the bed. “He still the same?”

She nodded. “Unfortunately,” she said, and tightened her grip on Rick's hand. After a few minutes of silence, she spoke again. “The last time I saw him like this was right after the accident. We honestly weren't sure if he was gonna make it or not, y' know?” she said, glancing back up at Daryl, more tears glistening in her eyes. 

He stayed quiet, blue eyes searching hers as he patiently listened to her words. 

“And he was so busted up, even worse than he is now,” she added as an aside. “His leg was broken in three places, and damn near half of his ribs on his right side. Internal bleedin', a concussion, punctured lung, you name it. He flat-lined twice on the operatin' table.” She paused for a moment, brow narrowing in what Daryl presumed to be anger. “He suffered through all of that, and you know that bastard he was with walked out with just a scratch on his forehead? My brother was in the hospital for two months, and that asshole only showed up twice to see him. I can't tell you how badly I wanted to hurt him, so thank you for takin' care of that.” She paused and glanced back up at him. “I only wish the cop would've let you lay into him a little longer.” 

“ 'm sorry I wasn't there when it started,” and the words had slipped past Daryl's lips before he even realized it. The guilt that he felt was overwhelming him, and instead of keeping it tightly wound up inside as it should have been, it was starting to seep through his defenses. 

“Don't be.” She paused, leaning forward to brush a stray hair off of Rick's forehead. “Honestly, if you had been, it probably would've wound up even worse. What's done is done. The important thing is that you're here now, and I know that this is the last time I'm ever gonna see my brother like this. I can already tell that you're gonna take good care of him. Whether he likes it or not.”

Daryl quirked up the corner of his lips. “Yeah, he is pretty stubborn isn't he?”

“Stubborn ain't even the half of it,” she said, a sad smiling gracing her lips. “He's strong though,” she added, glancing back up at him. Awareness suddenly spread across her face, and she gently kissed Rick's hand and placed it back on the bed. “I'm gonna go get some coffee. You want anything?” she asked, standing up. 

He shook his head in response. “ 'm fine.”

“You sure? You're lookin' a lil' pale in the face. Have you eaten anything?” she inquired, folding her arms across her chest.

“Hasn't exactly been at the top of my list,” he replied, glancing at Rick and all the guilt that he had felt before came rushing back, drowning him in its crushing wave of failure. 

“Well, since it looks like you're goin' to be part of this family now, and family's supposed to take care of each other, I'm gonna go get you somethin' to eat,” she said, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder as she walked past him towards the door.

He was ready to tell her not to worry about it, that he'd be fine, but those words never made it out of his mouth. Instead, all that came out was, “What?” 

She smiled though her back was still to him. “I'll be right back,” she said, and before he could get another word in, disappeared out the door. 

He sighed and scrubbed a hand across his face, finally allowing himself to sit down. “Think your sister's already plannin' our weddin',” he joked and attempted a smile, though he managed to only quirk up one side of his mouth. Slowly, he reached forward, his hand finding Rick's. “I bet she knows where it's gonna be, who the flower girl is an' everything,” he added, tracing the length of Rick's fingers with his. “That's if we even get that far,” and his tone grew softer, more reserved. “Least, I hope we do. Look, I just want you to know, that I'm not goin' anywhere. An' I'll be here as long as you need me. Probably 'til you get sick a me. Cause I know I could never get sick a you. And I'll try my best to give you everything you ever want. Because you deserve so much more than what's been handed to you.” He paused and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he bent his head. “Alright, I'm gonna shut up now. You're probably sick a listenin' to me anyway.” 

The sounds of the ventilator filled the room, and Daryl stayed silent, keeping his head bowed until the door opened. He looked up and saw that it was Maggie. “Here ya go,” she said, handing over a small brown paper bag and a tall cup of coffee. “Hope ya like turkey,” she added as she sat down in the chair on the opposite side of the bed. 

“It's fine,” he said, taking a long gulp from the coffee before opening the bag. “Even though you didn't have to do it, I appreciate it,” he added, holding up the plastic container that encased a turkey sandwich. He honestly hadn't thought about food at all, but as soon as the taste of the turkey, lettuce, tomato, and mayonnaise hit his tongue, he found himself devouring the sandwich. 

“You don't eat when you're stressed, do you?” she inquired, curious green eyes meeting Daryl's. He quickly looked away and shrugged, brushing the crumbs from his lap. “He's the same way. Our mom always used to get onto him about it. You could always tell if he had a big test or something comin' up cause he'd lose like ten pounds. She'd get so worried...” and her voice trailed off, gaze falling on Rick. “I hadn't seen him since they'd moved,” she said, voice beginning to shake. “If I had – If I had, then I would've known just how bad it was,” she managed to get out before she broke down in tears. She covered her face with her hands, a sob escaping from her lips as she cried. 

Daryl silently got up, pushing past the awkwardness that he usually displayed when attempting to comfort someone, and made his way over to her. He didn't speak as he wrapped his arms around her shaking shoulders, and he didn't flinch when she gripped a hold of his jacket – he just stood there, leaning over, and letting her cry for as long as she needed to. 

The hours came and went, as well as members of the Greene family, but Daryl remained there, never leaving Rick's side. 

He wasn't quite sure what time he had nodded off, but the moment he heard the door to Rick's room open, his head snapped up, gaze falling on a worried-looking Carol. 

“I'm sorry I woke you,” she immediately apologized, and he shook his head in response as he wiped the sleep from his eyes. 

“ 's alright. Everything okay?” he asked, and she nodded. 

“Everything's as fine as it's going to be for the time being,” she said, offering him a sad smile. “I managed to secure a cot for you. I was just waiting for them to bring it up, so I figured I'd come in here and check on you. How are you holdin' up?”

He shrugged. “I'm alright.”

“Have you eaten anything?” she inquired, and a hint of smile graced his lips. “What?” she asked, her sad smile growing a little brighter. 

“Nothin',” he answered, shaking his head. “Can just tell that you're a mom is all,” he answered, and she laughed a little at that. 

“Well, it's obvious you need looking after,” she said matter-of-factly, though her tone was playful. “I-I was about to take my lunch break. You wanna come with?”

Daryl stilled, gaze automatically traveling back to Rick. 

“I've got my pager. If anything changes, we'll know.” The hopeful expression slowly transformed into a sad one when Daryl didn't immediately answer. “Just fifteen minutes?” 

Daryl couldn't help but feel bad, and he knew he'd feel even worse if he turned her down, so instead, he nodded and replied, “Sure.” He stood up and leaned over Rick, kissing him softly on the forehead. “I'll be back soon,” he murmured. He briefly squeezed his hand, then backed away, allowing Carol to go out first. 

“You're sweet, you know that?” she said as they started walking down the hall. 

Daryl just laughed lowly and mumbled, “I don't know about all that.”

“It's true,” she continued, stopping at the row of elevators and pressing the down button on the wall. She stood back and waited, a small, teasing smile bringing up the corners of her lips. 

Daryl glanced at her, then let his gaze fall to the floor. He was never good at receiving compliments. They didn't come around too often for him, and when they did, he just didn't quite know how to react. It made him uncomfortable for the most part, though he tried not to let it show. 

“And you're very mysterious too,” she added as the doors opened up, allowing them entry.

Daryl stayed back, letting Carol get on first. 

“The less you know about me, the better off you probably are,” he said with a half-smile as he followed her. 

“Uh huh,” she replied, hitting the button for the second floor. “I doubt that. From what I've seen, you're one of the nicest men I've ever known. Not a lot of people have the guts to do what you did.”

“An' what's that?” he asked, playing along.

“Beat the living daylights out of that monster,” she replied, a hint of a smile still on her face. “I happened to overhear one of the EMTs talking. Turns out they had to take him to Memorial. You banged him up pretty good.” 

Daryl wasn't quite sure how to react to that, so he just stayed quiet. He folded one arm across his chest while the other stayed flat at his side. 

“Daryl, whatever you do, don't feel bad about that. He deserved it,” she said, and her voice was firm. She gently laid her hand on his folded arm. The action garnered Daryl's attention, and surprisingly, he didn't pull away.

“Trust me,” he stated in agreement. “I know he did.” 

She nodded and patted his arm softly, pulling away once the elevator dinged, letting them know they had arrived at their destination.

“So, how's your music going? Aside from this – are you still playing out?” she inquired, leading them down a hallway and into a deserted cafeteria. 

“Yeah, I'm – I'm takin' some time off now, but eventually, yeah,” he responded, grabbing himself a cup of coffee and a muffin. 

“Well, I'd love to see you play sometime. The next time you do, let me know, and I'll try to be there.” 

Once they both paid for their food, they sat down at one of the tables and began to eat. 

“How's your daughter doin'?” Daryl asked, pulling the muffin apart and eating a piece.

A bright smile immediately washed over Carol's face at the mention of Sophia. “She's doing really well, actually. Just made honor roll. I couldn't be more proud of her,” she gushed, and took a bite out of her sandwich. 

Daryl managed to smile a bit at that and took a sip of his coffee. “That's good.” He wasn't very good at small talk. It seemed to come easy with Rick, and that was honestly a first for Daryl. He usually stayed quiet, always offering up a listening ear, but little more than that. 

“You, um, got any kids?” Carol asked, face reddening a bit at the look Daryl threw her way.

He chuckled lowly and shook his head in response. “No,” he answered and took a long drink from his cup.

“I'm sorry, that was a pretty stupid question,” Carol said, wiping her mouth with a napkin.

“No, it's fine,” he replied, folding the muffin wrapper up until it was a small rectangle. 

Carol opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, her pager went off. 

Worry immediately crashed over Daryl's features, and he watched intently as Carol read the message. She sent him a reassuring look. “Don't worry, it's not him. But I do have to go.”

Daryl let out a sigh, and nodded. 

“Thank you for keeping me company,” she said as she stood up, and slid her chair back under the table. 

“It's no problem,” he responded, grabbing her empty sandwich container before she could and throwing it away along with his wrapper and empty cup. 

“I'll try to swing by later,” she added, leading the way back to the elevator.

Daryl nodded in acknowledgment. He stayed quiet for the rest of the ride up, letting Carol get off first when they reached their floor. 

Before they parted ways, she gently laid her hand on his arm and said, “Get some rest, okay?”

He nodded again, offering her a half-smile.

She returned the gesture, and hurried off the opposite way of Rick's room. The hallway was empty as Daryl made the short trek back to room 209. He pushed open the door, cautious eyes automatically darting over to Rick, making sure that he was still there. Except now, there was an empty cot next to his bed, clad with clean sheets and a pillow. He made a mental note to thank Carol later, and climbed onto it. He didn't care how uncomfortable it was; he'd slept on much worse. The gap between the cot and Rick's bed wasn't too far, so he reached over once he had settled down and gently interlaced Rick's fingers with his. “Night, Rick,” he murmured, and closed his eyes. 

Before he passed out, he prayed, prayed that if there was a God, that he'd let Rick wake up and be okay. 

He got his answer two days later.


	13. Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't thank all you lovely people enough for the support and reviews you leave me. You guys are so kind to me, so thank you so much again! This chap didn't turn out as long as I hoped it would be, but hopefully, it's still good enough.

The last thing Rick remembered before he fell unconscious was the color of the sky that stretched out above Shane as he beat him relentlessly. It was a charcoal gray, the night already having come to claim the day. That darkness stayed with him, and he wandered through it day after day after day, unable to find any source of light. There was a steady hum that was always within earshot, but even with all the searching, he could never quite find where exactly it was coming from. 

After awhile, a voice broke through the hum and the dreariness – it was Daryl's. At first, he couldn't quite understand what the man was saying. It was all just jumbled together and garbled, but as he continued to listen and be still, he began to comprehend his words. 

_“Look, I don't care what you have to do, but you gotta wake up and be okay, alright? See, this is the thing, I'm pretty sure - I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you, Rick, and I can't lose you, okay?”_

At that, Rick tried going towards the sound of Daryl's broken voice, but the darkness became too thick and suffocating, and before long, Daryl's voice quieted, and Rick was lost once more. 

On and off, he heard other voices, some he recognized (his family's, Carol's), others he did not. The unknown voices sent him spiraling further into the abyss, their voices not calm like the others. He had almost drifted away until Daryl's pulled him back again.

_Look, I just want you to know, that I'm not goin' anywhere. An' I'll be here as long as you need me. Probably 'til you get sick a me._

The man's voice gave him hope, yet he still couldn't break free of the complete and utter despair he was surrounded by. Once more, the hum replaced Daryl's voice, and he was met with the nothingness again.

T*W*D*T*W*D

Daryl watched with anxious eyes as one of Rick's many doctors removed the breathing tube from his throat. It had been three days since Rick had first been and admitted, and they'd informed him and Hershel just an hour before that the intracranial pressure had gone down far enough that he could be taken out of the coma. Daryl had felt automatic relief then, but now as he observed them taking away the machine that had helped Rick breathe while he had been under, he wasn't so sure. There was an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, and slowly but surely, it was spiraling out, entangling the rest of his body with nervousness. 

“Shouldn't he be wakin' up?” he asked, arms folded across his chest, gaze never leaving Rick's prone form. 

“Just because he's off the meds doesn't mean he's completely healed. It just takes time. Eventually he'll -”

Before the doctor could finish, Rick began to seize, his entire body wracked with tremors. 

Fear wrapped its wicked fingers around Daryl's heart and began to squeeze, and he immediately felt the urge to be at Rick's side, to do something – anything – to help him now. But as he lunged forward, he felt someone gripping his shoulders and holding him back.

Above the sudden onrush of other medical personnel flooding into the room and shouting various codes and medical jargon, he heard Hershel whisper in his ear, “Just hold on, son. Hold on.” He wasn't quite sure if the man was saying it more to him or himself, but he stood still, watching in horror as the machine that monitored Rick's heart stopped beeping. 

T*W*D*T*W*D

Rick wasn't sure how much time had passed from the last time he had heard Daryl's voice. He only knew that the darkness he'd been drowning in was transforming. The charcoal gray gradually lightened, searing into a bright white before the nothingness finally disappeared. In its wake, he was met with various scenes from his childhood. So many things he had purposely made himself forget flashed before him – how hard the back of his father's hand felt when it struck his cheek, the broken arm he'd received when he was a mere five years old (his father yet again), the day he thought his mother had died at the man's hand, the day Shane had introduced himself – he watched them all, flooding before him in the brightest and most vivid colors he'd ever seen. Eventually, they stopped, finally coming to a standstill, and he soon found himself standing in his boyhood home (Hershel's), in the doorway of his old room. It looked exactly the same as he remembered it – a twin-sized bed nestled up against the wall, in the left corner of the room, and the desk where he'd completed many a homework assignment not less than two feet away from it. An old wooden dresser that his step-father had sanded himself was on the opposite wall, sitting fairly close to the doorway. The curtains that fluttered in the cool breeze were the same light blue, stitched with the familiar flower pattern his mother was known to sew. He wondered for a moment, why he was here in this place. Why, above all the things he'd just witnessed, did he end up here?

His question was soon answered when he heard the sound of voices drifting towards him from just beyond the closed door. 

_“S-Shane, I-I promise you, there's nothing going on between me and Andrea. We-We're just friends.”_ Rick knew that voice well because it was his own, though it belonged to his sixteen-year-old self. 

_“Sure don't look that way as far as I can tell.”_ Even at sixteen, Shane's voice was laced with venom, not quite as cruel as his older self, but it was there, dripping from each word he spoke. 

Rick shuttered as the door opened, and a younger version of he and Shane walked into the room, Shane slamming the door shut behind them. His younger self flinched at the sound of the wood catching in the frame, but continued on with what he was doing, carefully setting his backpack on the floor near his bed and attempting to slide his arm out of the sleeve of his jacket. But before he could fully remove the garment, Shane was there, strong, athletic fingers wrapping around his wrist and crushing the delicate bones there. 

_“You best look at me when I'm talkin' to you, Grimes. It ain't polite to turn your back on me.”_

_“Shane, w-what's gotten into you?”_ His younger self asked, fear tinting his voice. He tried to pull away, but the larger teen's grip grew stronger, tighter. 

_“Ain't nothin' gotten into me_ ,” Shane replied simply, dark eyes still narrowed and piercing. _“You just gotta understand that_ ,” and Shane pulled him closer, cutting the distance between them in half. “ _If we're gonna be what we said we are, you can't go 'round chattin' up other people. It's disrespectful towards me, and 'specially yourself. You wanna look like a slut?_ ” 

Pain flashed across the other sixteen-year-old's eyes. “ _No,_ ” he responded with a shake of the head. “ _I don't._ ”

“ _Then you gotta stop talkin' to other people, Rick_ ,” and Shane pulled him even closer, almost flat against his chest. “ _If we're gonna be together, then you don't need anyone else._ ”

This was when it truly all started, Rick realized. 

He watched as Shane kissed him, all lips and teeth; and at the time, Rick had thought it was passionate, but now he knew better. It had been a sign of Shane's possessive nature all along – he'd just been too blind to see it. 

The bright, white light that had flashed before his eyes before seared across his vision once again, taking with it the sight of the two teens kissing. Rick now found himself in another familiar place – the first apartment he and Shane had ever gotten together, both fresh out of college and newly appointed sheriff's deputies of the Cynthiana police department. 

The dread that soon washed over him was heavy and thick, about as suffocating as the heat and humidity in the middle of a steamy Kentucky summer. He knew what was coming, and no matter how hard he didn't want to see it, it all played out before him, and all he could do was stand there and watch.

It was late, around midnight or so, and he'd just finished a double shift. They'd been short on staff, and had been offering up overtime to anyone that would take it, so Rick jumped at the chance. Shane's birthday was coming up, and he wanted to get him something nice for once instead of the cheap little trinkets they'd exchanged over the years. 

It had been a rough day all around, and he'd been relieved when he'd finally made it home, though as soon as he came through the door, any sense of respite he'd had vanished as quickly as it came. Shane was sitting in the living room with the lights off, the TV casting shadows over his hardened visage. Next to him on the coffee table sat an empty glass and a bottle of Jack, and judging from the glossy look in his eyes, Rick had presumed it to be almost empty as well. 

“ _You were supposed to be home two hours ago_.” 

The tone of Shane's voice cut straight through Rick, and he had actually taken a step back when he'd heard it. The expression of simmering fury on the other man's face didn't help matters either. 

“ _T-The Chief a-asked me to stay a little longer, h-help out with some paperwork. I would've called_ -”

He wasn't even able to finish his sentence before Shane was up and charging at him, backing him straight into the closed front door, the knob jabbing him straight in the spine. He grimaced at the contact, pain immediately radiating from the spot. He let out a pained grunt, and the noise only seemed to make Shane angrier. Though Rick's hair was short, it was still long enough for Shane to grab a hold of it, and yank his head back. 

“ _I think you're lying to me_ ,” Shane spit out, nearly nose to nose with Rick. Rick attempted to shake his head in response, but Shane's grip was much too tight. “ _You doin' somethin' you shouldn't be doin', huh?_ ” And the scent of alcohol overwhelmed Rick. It was strong, far too strong...

“ _Shane, p-please listen to me. I-I was working, and that's all. W-Why don't you just calm down and_ -” 

The sound of Shane's palm striking Rick's cheek echoed throughout the quiet apartment; the action sent Rick reeling. He brought his hand up to his cheek, the skin there warm and hot. It was the first time the other man had hit him with the intent to actually hurt him, and as the scene faded, Rick knew all too well how it would end. 

Memories flashed in front of him and around him again – of the many times he'd lied to people about where his bruises had come from, of the many hospital visits that he'd had, and almost every time Shane had abused him, whether it be physically or emotionally, and naturally, of the accident – it all rushed past him, speeding by like a runaway train. 

Then suddenly, it all stopped, and he was in first person mode this time no longer a spectator to his memories. He was walking up the flight of stairs to their latest apartment, grocery bags in his arms. He soon found himself walking down the hallway, and then fumbling with his keys, and then a voice - “ _Hey, you need help with that_?” grabbed his attention. He'd only managed to get a glimpse in before the bag had slipped out of his grasp, but he couldn't help but think how handsome the other man was. The rush of nervousness hit him, then shame as his sleeve rode up, exposing his bracelet of bruises, a reminder of the fight he and Shane had had a few days before. 

He'd stood back up and when he had, he was finally able to get a better look at the other man who said his name was, “ _Daryl—my name's Daryl. Dixon._ ” He was clad in a sleeveless shirt, showcasing a rather nice looking set of bi-ceps, and tanned skin that had most definitely been acquainted with the great outdoors. He was tall, just a hair or two taller than himself, and slim. But his body wasn't the most noticeable thing about him, no, it was his eyes. They were a bright blue color, and they pierced the very depths of Rick's soul, and he'd known it then, even if he hadn't wanted to admit it to himself, but he'd known that there was something very special about the man named Daryl Dixon, and he couldn't help but take a liking to him. 

The white light flashed briefly again, and then came another steady stream of memories, the last few months flying past him like a video stuck on fast-forward. He realized at that moment that the hum that he'd been hearing was gone, now replaced with an awful sound, a loud, piercing beep that was almost deafening, and it cast its song over him and through him and suddenly that was the only thing that was there.

T*W*D*T*W*D

“Clear!” the head doctor called out, and brought the two paddles of the defibrillator down on Rick's bare chest. 

Daryl watched fearfully as Rick's body convulsed, briefly lifting up off the mattress before falling right back down again, just as lifeless as before.

“No, no, no,” Daryl muttered, shaking his head, Hershel's grip strained trying to contain him. Once again the doctor called for the voltage to be turned up and ordered, “Clear!” Daryl's heart sank as the monitor continued to maintain a flat line, no sign of any heartbeat emanating from the man he had come to love. 

“Rick!” 

T*W*D*T*W*D

“Rick!” 

Suddenly, the terrible sound that had convoluted Rick's consciousness disappeared, replaced with Daryl's voice. All at once, every single second of his life raced past him again, and he knew without a doubt he had to come back.

Someone was waiting for him.


	14. Lessons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't even begin to thank you all for being so patient with me. I truly am sorry that I took so long to update this story. I had RL stuff pop up, and it just didn't leave me with any spare time to complete this. A huge thanks to TheWalkingDeadLover as they gave me the gentle push I needed to finish it. I was quite nervous with how it turned out, but hopefully you guys will be satisfied. Thank you all so much again! You guys are wonderful! ♥

Daryl had had plenty of bad days in his life, far too many to count actually; but he was fairly positive though, that today had been the worst. The moment Rick had seized, his heart had transplanted itself in his throat, and even after Rick had been revived, it had still been hard for him to breathe. After several hours of testing, and a still unconscious Rick, the doctors had been unable to determine what exactly had gone wrong. Their best guess was that it had been a reaction to one of the medications he had been on, but none of them honestly knew for sure. 

That hadn't been good enough for Daryl, and it had taken Carol to calm him down once he'd started shouting at the doctors. 

Now he found himself sitting in the chair next to Rick's bed, head filled with too many worries and what-ifs to even attempt going to sleep. He glanced over at the clock, the red digital numbers stating that it was _2:42 A.M._ He sighed and scrubbed a hand across his stubbled face. It was late, and he knew he looked like shit, but he didn't care. He just couldn't force himself to close his eyes, not even for a few minutes. 

His gaze drifted from the book he was holding open with one hand to Rick, and for the second time that day, his heart scrambled from his chest to his throat – Rick's eyes were open. 

“Rick?” the man's name automatically tumbled from his lips, and he leaned forward and reached for his hand, letting the forgotten book tumble to the floor. 

Bruises still littered the smaller man's skin, purples, blues, greens and yellows marking his flesh, but there wasn't even a hint of pain in his wide eyes as he turned his head towards Daryl. They were bright and blue, and Daryl was pretty sure that he could drown in them if he wasn't careful. 

“Hey,” was Rick's response, and even though there were tears already forming in his eyes (making them impossibly bluer), there was a smile forming on his chapped and broken lips. 

The moment Daryl actually made contact with Rick's hand, it felt as though a surge of electricity raced through his whole body, and on nothing but pure impulse, he leaned forward and placed the gentlest of kisses on Rick's lips. Once he realized what he'd done, he attempted to recoil, an apology already forming in his throat, but Rick's other hand was on his cheek, and the touch grounded him into open-mouthed stillness. 

They stared at each other briefly before Daryl felt the other man gently tug on his shirt, and he immediately wrapped his arms around him, one hand gently cupping the back of his head. “I missed you,” he murmured, and his voice shook as he spoke, unable to contain the emotion that he usually held at bay. 

“I know,” Rick replied, voice just a hair above a whisper. His grasp was weak, but he still held onto Daryl until the other man pulled away, not too far though. 

Daryl's eyes glimmered as he opened his mouth to speak. It took a moment for words to actually form though due to the knot that was currently keeping a tight hold on his throat. “You had us scared for awhile,” he said, and he cleared his throat, knowing his voice would break if he didn't. 

“I'm sorry,” Rick replied honestly, and Daryl shook his head. 

“Ain't got nothin' to be sorry for,” the Georgian stated, and placed a gentle hand on Rick's cheek. “The only thing that matters is that you're awake now. You're fuckin' awake,” Daryl repeated, more to himself than Rick, and for the first time in awhile, he allowed a wide grin to cross his lips. 

The action, in turn, made Rick smile as well, though the tears that had went unshed finally escaped the confines of his eyes and trickled down his cheeks. Almost immediately, Daryl's smile vanished, replaced with a look of worry. “What's wrong?” he asked, concern in his tone as he brought his other hand up to Rick's face and carefully wiped away the stray tears with his thumbs. 

It took a moment for Rick to respond. He closed his eyes, and more tears flowed from beneath his shuttered lids. “I'm sorry,” he murmured again. “I'm so sorry for puttin' you through this.”

Daryl stared at him in shock, a pained expression overcoming his features. All this time, he'd been blaming himself, worried that Rick would blame him when he woke, but no, it was the exact opposite. Once again, Rick thought it was all his fault. And he'd only been conscious for all of five minutes. 

“Rick, hey, hey,” Daryl said in the most comforting and gentle tone he could muster. “None a this is your fault. You didn't cause this, okay? You didn't cause this,” he repeated, and continued to wipe away the unrelenting rivers of tears that streamed down Rick's cheeks. Daryl steadied himself, blinking away his own tears, and embraced Rick once more. “Everything's gonna be okay now, you hear me? He ain't never gonna get near you again. Okay?”

Rick nodded into Daryl's shoulder, and Daryl slowly pulled away again, though his face lingered near Rick's. After a few seconds, Rick opened his eyes. “You are so beautiful,” and the words were out of Daryl's mouth before he could take them back, and he couldn't help but wonder when his filter had shut off. He wasn't used to saying such things, but Rick just did something to him that no one else ever had. That no one else ever would. 

Rick looked pained momentarily at the compliment, but his expression soon eased and he licked his lips. “I think they must've mixed up the meds, and gave you mine instead,” he chided, a hint of playfulness in his tone, and Daryl just shook his head, the corners of his lips quirking up slightly. 

“How are you feelin'?” Daryl inquired, tone turning serious as he studied Rick further, running the pad of his thumb ever so gently across his cheek. 

“I've been better,” Rick answered honestly, breaking eye contact with Daryl and glancing down at the foot of the bed. Daryl's heart sunk a little at the response, hating that the man he loved was in so much pain. He also knew that Rick must've been feeling fairly bad to even admit to not being alright. Without a word, he reached over and pressed the small device patients were given to page a nurse. “How long...how long was I out?” 

Daryl's gaze met his once more. “Three days,” Daryl replied, and as hard as he tried, he couldn't hide the momentary flash of hurt at remembering what had occurred earlier that day. 

“What's wrong?” Rick asked, worry now consuming his expression. “Daryl?” he asked again, when the other man didn't respond. 

It was Daryl's turn to break eye contact, gaze falling towards the floor. His voice was gruff as he spoke. “You flat-lined yesterday. We-I almost lost you.”

Silence traversed between them until the door swooshed open, Carol entering with a worried look on her tired visage. She had almost made it to the bed when she realized that her former comatose patient was awake. “Rick!” the man's name left her lips, and a smile lit up her face. “You're awake! How are you feeling?” she immediately asked, already checking his pulse on the monitor. She glanced over at the two men, easily picking up on the fact that something was wrong. “Whatever is going on needs to stop. I should be seeing some smiles in here. All this frowning needs to go away,” she stated, her motherly tone never faltering. 

Both men still appeared tense at her words, Daryl looking stiff and awkward, and Rick looking nervous and sad.

“Alright, let's try this again,” she sighed, leaning over and placing one hand on the bed. “How are you feeling, sweetie?” she asked, looking into Rick's eyes. 

His nervousness became more than apparent when she found he couldn't exactly look her in the eye. “Do you have any pain? Are you hurting anywhere?” 

“My-My head hurts a bit, and here,” he said, gesturing towards his ribs.

“Are you having trouble breathing?” she asked, going into full nurse mode. 

He hesitated, then shook his head. 

“You don't have to lie to me,” she chided him gently. “If you're having trouble breathing, you have to let me know, okay?”

Rick nodded, and mumbled, “Just a little.” 

“Alright, let's take a look,” she stated, slowly reaching towards his hospital gown. “You have three broken ribs, so I just want to see how they're healing.” Rick nodded, but kept his gaze on her hands the entire time. At the sight of Rick's distress, Daryl squeezed his hand gently, making sure to interlock their fingers. This drew Rick's attention away from Carol's probing, and thus distracted him from the array of bruises that littered his chest when she finally did part the cloth material and the wrapping underneath of it. “Alright, I just want to listen for a moment, but it looks like you're healing just fine,” she said, removing the stethoscope from around her neck. “It's just going to be a little cold,” she warned, gingerly pressing it against his chest. “Take a deep breath for me, okay?” she instructed, and Rick complied, jaw clenching as he did so. “One more?” And he did. “Everything sounds good. As good as it should anyway,” she said, removing the tips of the stethoscope from her ears. “You just need a little more time for those to heal, and then you should be breathing normally. Anything else?”

Rick shook his head, and she smiled. “Do you want me to call Hershel or do you want to do the honors?” she asked, glancing at Daryl as she tied Rick's gown back together. 

“I'll do it,” Daryl answered, a gleam still in his eyes. 

Carol nodded in understanding. “Alright, you two don't go anywhere. I'm going to retrieve Dr. Blake, and we'll go from there.” She glanced back down at Rick, a reassuring smile on her lips. “I am so glad to see those beautiful blue eyes open. You're definitely a fighter, that's for sure.”

Rick glanced up at her, and offered up a tiny smile, though she could clearly see he was already worn and weary looking. 

“I'll be back,” she stated, patted Rick gently on the arm, and went out of the room. 

Daryl fished in his pants pocket and pulled out Rick's phone. He pressed a few buttons, and suddenly ringing filled the silence of the room, the phone now on speaker. It rang around five times or so before Hershel's sleep-filled voice answered. “Hello?” he asked.

“Someone wants to say hi,” Daryl said, speaking into the phone, then, slowly holding it up in front of Rick's lips. 

“Hey,” he managed to get out before his throat went dry. 

“Rick?” Hershel's voice was filled with surprise. 

After quickly downing the small cup of water Daryl had held up to his mouth, Rick tried again. “Yeah, it's me.” His voice was quiet, but there was a trace of happiness in his tone, especially once he had heard the other man yelling for his sisters to wake up. “We'll be there soon,” Hershel finally replied. After a few seconds of silence, “Daryl, make sure he doesn't go anywhere. We both know he'll try to have a bag packed by the time we get there, as slow as I drive.” 

The quip made both of them laugh lightly, and even brought genuine smiles to their faces, however small. 

“Alright, we'll be here,” Daryl responded. “Drive safe,” he added before hanging up. 

“You-You slept next to me?” Rick's words caught him off guard. He fidgeted a bit with the phone before finally setting it on the stand next to the bed. 

“Yeah,” he replied. “Didn't want to leave ya, so Carol found that for me. Pretty much been here ever since.” 

Rick squeezed Daryl's hand with his good one. “Thank you, Daryl.” His tone was sincere, and truly grateful. Daryl shrugged in response, a sudden wave of shyness washing over him. “I'm glad I dropped those oranges,” he added, his voice quiet but the corners of his lips tipped up ever so slightly. 

Daryl's gaze finally met his again, and he couldn't help but let his mouth curve up as well. “Me too.” 

“Would you...” Rick's voice trailed off, and Daryl leaned forward, ready to help the man in whatever way he could. Rick's smile grew the tiniest bit wider, but he suddenly appeared timid, and his gaze drifted again. 

“Would I what?” Daryl asked quietly, brow drawn in confusion. 

“Would you kiss me again?” Rick pushed the words through his lips, and stunned Daryl momentarily; but the other man quickly recovered, and gladly obliged with a nod of the head. He leaned in further, and ever so gently, placed his lips on Rick's. Knowing the other man's mouth wasn't completely healed up, he made sure to be as careful as possible, but that didn't stop Rick from kissing him back, shyly no doubt. 

Though it didn't last long, the gesture still managed to make Daryl's heart pound, and he knew then that there was absolutely no doubt that he truly was in love with Rick. He wouldn't tell the man that this soon though. The last thing he wanted to do was scare him off. He couldn't help but wonder, in the back of his mind, how long it had taken Shane to tell him that. 

The door swooshed open, Carol and the on-call doctor entering. Daryl eyed him up and down, his trust level down to nil when it had anything to do with the doctors and the majority of the hospital staff. 

The man was tall, quite easily towering over Carol, and had short, brown hair that looked on the verge of turning gray. He had a friendly visage, yet Daryl still stayed in a defensive position next to Rick. 

“Hello, Mr.Grimes,” the man said, a friendly smile on his lips, “I'm Doctor Blake, or you can call me Philip if you want.” 

Rick nodded, but remained quiet, careful eyes on the doctor's hands. “First things first, your vitals look pretty good, but I still need to run a few tests. According to your chart, you had a bad reaction yesterday to some medication, and that caused you to seize, so I just need to check and see if there are any lasting side effects due to that. I'm going to ask you a few questions, so just answer as best you can, and if you don't know or don't remember, just say so, alright?”

Rick nodded, his gaze still focused on his and Daryl's hands clasped together. Daryl squeezed his hand gently again, the action making the smallest of smiles tilt Rick's lips upwards.

“What's the last thing you remember?” Dr. Blake asked, his voice taking on a gentle tone. 

Rick's brow lowered at the question, the ghost of a smile that had just been there vanishing. Even though his head was starting to hurt even more, and it felt like he'd been run over by a truck, he knew the answer. He didn't want to think about it though. It hurt too much. “I...I remember opening the door...and-and I-I saw...I saw S-Shane standing there. It-It happened s-so fast-” Tears were starting to stream down his cheeks again, and immediately, Daryl stepped in. 

“Ain't you got other questions you can ask him, Doc?” Daryl's voice was as sharp as a knife, prepared to cut through anyone that dared upset Rick. “How 'bout like who's the president or what year is it or some shit like that?”

“Daryl,” Carol scolded lightly, brow narrowed and lips pursed. 

“Look, I know this is upsetting, I do,” Dr. Blake said, acknowledging Daryl, “But it's something I have to ask. If this upsets you, you're free to leave, but -”

“It ain't just upsettin' me, it's upsettin' him, and that's the problem.” Daryl lowered his voice the second he felt Rick's hand tremble in his. 

The doctor sighed, and nodded. “I understand that, but I have to see how intact his memory is. Most patients that experience a trauma such as what you have,” he said, turning his attention back to Rick, “don't recall what happened. The fact that you do tells me a lot. I'm not trying to upset you. Do you understand that?” 

Rick nodded, still unable to meet the doctor's eyes.

“Alright. On a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst, how badly does your head hurt?”

After a moment, Rick replied, “A-About a five.”

“Are you experiencing any dizziness or double vision?”

Rick shook his head. 

“Do you feel lightheaded at all?”

“No,” Rick answered, finally glancing up at the man. He didn't hold his gaze for long, just long enough to see that the other man had blue eyes and then he fixed his gaze on his and Daryl's hands once more. 

“Do you feel nauseous?” 

“A little,” Rick replied, voice still barely audible. 

“Okay, that should do for now,” the doctor stated, scribbling down instructions on Rick's chart. “We're still going to need to do a few more tests, but I'll schedule those for the morning so you can get some rest for now. If you start having any of those other symptoms I just asked you about, push that button right there immediately. Okay?”

“Y-Yes. Thank you, sir,” the former sheriff's deputy said, glancing at the man again before he handed Rick's chart over to Carol. 

“No need to thank me until you're up and ready to get out of here, which by the look of things, might only be a few more days depending on how quickly you heal. For now, just rest.” He sent Rick a quick, but reassuring smile, then left the room.

“I'm going to get you some more water, and your meds. Be right back,” Carol said, offering up a grin of her own between the two men before she disappeared from the room once again. 

“You okay?” Daryl asked, tone unsure as he met Rick's gaze, their eyes locking momentarily until Rick's eyes trailed off to their interlocked fingers. 

“I will be,” Rick murmured after a few seconds. “Now that you're here.” He glanced back up at Daryl again, a small smile lifting his lips, the gesture lightening his dark-rimmed eyes.

The words made Daryl's eyes glimmer. He blinked quickly, inwardly thankful that no tears made it down his cheeks. “Will be. For as long as ya need me to be.”

“That might be awhile,” Rick responded, eying his bad leg. “Gonna need help gettin' around. Might even need someone to carry me,” he joked, and Daryl chuckled lowly.

“That right?” 

“Yep,” Rick responded shyly. 

“I think I can handle that,” Daryl said with a nod, dark strands of hair falling into his eyes as he gazed at Rick. It was less than ten seconds before he leaned down and kissed the man again. 

T*W*D*T*W*D

“You're still here?” Tara asked.

Carol looked up from the paperwork she had been filling out, dark circles lining her sleep-deprived eyes. “What time _is_ it?” she responded, glancing at her wrist but realizing she had left her watch at home. 

“Almost 7:30. Your shift's been over for almost an hour and a half now,” the younger nurse replied. She quickly eased the clipboard from Carol's hands as well as the pen. “I got this. Go home. Sophia's going to wake up and wonder why you're not there to pick her up yet.”

The worry that had quickly washed over Carol's face turned into one of relief. “Thank you, Tara.”

“You're welcome. Now go. And get some sleep,” she added, with a smile. 

“Okay, okay. I'll see you tonight,” she said, heading towards the locker room. Since she was already late, she grabbed her purse and jacket, deciding that she'd just change when she got home. 

She slipped on her coat, and slung her purse over her shoulder, then made her way out of the room, and down the hall, past Rick's room and stopped.

_I'll just slip in, say goodnight, and be on my way,_ she thought. Biting her bottom lip, she quietly slid open the door, her mouth opening then closing when she came upon one of the most adorable sights she had ever seen. 

Both Rick and Daryl were fast asleep on Rick's bed, Rick having scooted over to leave enough space for the other man. Daryl lay on his side, a protective arm wrapped across the other man's waist, his head just inches away from Rick's. 

With a hard-to-contain-grin on her face, she quietly walked over to Daryl's empty cot, picked up the unused blanket, and gently draped it across them. 

“Goodnight you two,” she whispered, carefully easing Daryl's shaggy hair from his eyes with her featherlight touch. Thankful that he didn't stir, she quickly and silently made her way out of the room, leaving them to their dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that you've read it, I just want to say thank you all again. However, this may or may not have been the last real chapter. I will definitely add an epilogue if I decide that it is. And if there comes a time where I end up having more free time, I'll probably do a sequel or a collection of one-shots in this verse. I really do thank you all for your patience, and awesomeness in general. Love you guys! ♥

**Author's Note:**

> Any comments or suggestions or feedback would be lovely.


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